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iseum of Modern Art

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"10 Days in Jail"

Do not miss Bebe Daniels' J^l This
own story of her trial.

It's a scream ! lSSUe

Served Perfectly !
How it is done
with America's
Favorite Beverage

With a deft, sure hand he adds the tee-cold,
sparkling water. It looks for an instant as
though the glass would overflow, but it
doesn't. The amount is five ounces —
exactly the right proportion.

You may take up a bit of the
proportion of water with ice, as a
small cube or crushed. Stir with

a spoon.

You meet few men
with skill like that of the
soda fountain expert. He takes
a six-ounce glass and draws just
one ounce of Coca-Cola syrup — the pre-
cise base for the best drink — service that
eliminates waste.

Take a six-ounce glass, not a larger
or a smaller one.

<*"

One press on the syrup syphon, with
the soda man's sense of touch for
exact measurements, gives one
ounce of Coca-Cola syrup — you
know just where it should come to
in the glass to be precisely the right
amount.

Pull the silver faucet for five ounces
of pure, ice-cold carbonated water —
with the one ounce of syrup, this
quantity fills the glass.

Drink

Done quickly? You bet. The
rising bubbles just have time to
come to a bead that all but o'er-
tops the brim as the glass is
passed over the marble fountain
for the first delicious and refresh-

ing sip.

That's the soda fountain recipe
for the perfect drink, perfectly
served. Coca-Cola is easily
served perfectly because Coca-
Cola syrup is prepared with the
finished art that comes from the
practice of a lifetime. Good
things of nine sunny climes, nine
different countries, are properly
combined in every ounce.

It has all been done
in flashes. The glass
is before you before
there is time for con-
sciouswaiting. Thirst
is answered by the
expert with Coca-Cola
in its highest degree
of deliciousness and
refreshingness.

Guard against the natural mis-
takes of too much syrup and too
large a glass. Any variation from
the ratio of one ounce of syrup
to five ounces of water, and some-
thing of the rare quality of Coca-
Cola is lost; you don't get Coca-
Cola at the top of its flavor and
at its highest appeal.

Coca-Cola is sold everywhere
with universal popularity, be-
cause perfect service and not
variations is a soda fountain rule.

DELICIOUS and REFRESHING

THE COCA-COLA COMPANY, ATLANTA, GA.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

£^T

J^ CIGARETTES

"S7noke Omar for Jroma

The same thing you look for in a cup of
fine coffee — AROMA— is what made
OMAR such a bio success.
OMAR is as enjoyable as a cup of
fine coffee.

$12,000,000 of OMAR AROAAA en-
joyed last year (and still growing)

Aroma makes a cigarette —
they Ve told you that for years

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

hen there's nobody home
but the cat

There's a Paramount Pic-
ture at the theatre, and puss is
welcome to the most comfort-
able chair.

A cat may be content with
dream pictures in the firelight,
but humans know where there's
something better.

What a wonderful spell Para-
mount Picture's exercise over
people's imaginations, to empty
so many thousands of homes in
every State every day for two
hours !

And to empty them for a
beneficial purpose! Tonic for
spirit and body!

For you get the best in Para-
mount Pictures

— the best in story, because
the greatest dramatists of
Europe and America are writ-
ing for Paramount.

The best in direction, because
the finest directing talent is
attracted by Paramount's un-
equalled equipment to enable it
to carry out its audacious plans.

The best in acting talent, be-
cause Paramount gives histri-
onic genius a chance to reach
millions instead of thousands.

The modern motion picture
industry is the shrewdest blend-
ing of romance with business
that the world has ever seen.
At least five million people in
U. S. A. every day rely on
Paramount Pictures to satisfy
their urgent need of entertain-
ment.

Figure this, over a whole year, in
terms of either finance or entertain-
ment, and you begin to see what a
striking achievement it is to lead this
industry.

Two- thirds of all the theatres show
Paramount Pictures as the main part
of their programs, and that's why
those theatres are the best, each in
its locality.

For a great theatre is nothing but
a triumph of architecture until the
latest Paramount Picture arrives,

— and then,

— why, then,
there's nobody home but the cat!
Because that theatre is the home of
the best show in town.

Thomas Meighan in

"The City of Silent Men"

From John A. Moroso's story

"The Quarry.".

Cosmopolitan production

"Proxies"

From the story by Frank R.

Dorothy Dalton in

"The Idol of the North"

by J. Clarkson Miller.

Paramount Super

Special Production

"Deception."
Sydney Chaplin in
"King, Queen, Joker"
Written and directed by the famous
comedian.
Lois Weber's production
"Too Wise Wives"
An intimate study of a universal
problem.
Elsie Ferguson
in "Sacred and Profane Love"
William D. Taylor's Production
of Arnold Bennett's play in
which Miss Ferguson ap-
peared on the stage.
Sir James M. Barrie's
"Sentimental Tommy"
Directed by John S. Robertson.
Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle in
"The Traveling Salesman"
A screamingly funny presentation of
James Forbes' popular farce.
Cosmopolitan production
"The Wild Goose"
By Gouverneur Morris.
Thomas Meighan in
"White and Unmarried"
A whimsical, romantic comedy
by John D. Swain.
"Appearances," by Edward Knoblock

A Donald Crisp production.

Made in England. With David Powell.

Thomas H. Ince Special

"The Bronze Bell"

By Louis Joseph Vance

A thrilling melodrama on a gigantic

scale.

Douglas MacLean in "One a Minute"

Thos. H. Ince production of

Fred Jackson's famous stage farce.

Ethel Clayton in "Sham"

By Elmer Harris andGeraldine Bonner.

George Melford's production

"A Wise Fool"

By Sir Gilbert Parker

A drama of the northwest, by the author

and director of "Behold My Wife!"

Cosmopolitan Production

"The Woman God Changed"

By Donn Byrne.

Wallace Reid in "Too Much Speed"

The ever popular star in another

comedy novelty by Byron Morgan.

"The Mystery Road"

A British production with

David Powell

From E. Phillips Oppenheim's novel.

William A. Brady's production "Life"

By Thompson Buchanan
From the melodrama which ran a year

at the Manhattan Opera House.

Dorothy Dalton in "Behind Masks"

An adaptation of the famous novel by

E. Phillips Oppenheim

"Jeanne of the Marshes."

Gloria Swanson in Elinor Glyn's

"The Great Moment"

Specially written for the star by the

author of "Three Weeks."
WilliamdeMilleVThe Lost Romance '
By Edward Knoblock.

(paramount ^pictures

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

MUI^^n

The World's Leading Motion Picture Publication

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE

JAMES R. QUIRK, Editor

Vol. XX

No. 2

Contents

July, 1 92 1

Cover Design Gloria Swanson

From a Pastel Portrait by Rolf Armstrong.
Rotogravure: 11

Mary Thurman May Collins

Claire Windsor Blanche Sweet

Bebe Daniels Florence Vidor

Lionel Barrymore

The Land of Might-Have-Been Editorial 19

Elinor— The Tiger Drawing by Ralph Barton 20

A Specimen of Reincarnation, Featuring Miss Glyn.

Is Marriage a Bunco Game?
Hot Shots from a Famous Author.

A Hoot for Haughty Landlords

Elsie Ferguson and Her Portable Chateau.

Messrs. Chaney

An Interview with a Great Character Actor.

She Laughed 'Til She Cried

Marie Prevost Has Smiled Out of Comedies.

Page Mr. Volstead!

A Little Dry Humor from Cellars of Filmland.

Rupert Hughes 21

May Stanley

Joan Jordan

(Photographs)

(Contents continued on next page)

Editorial Offices, 25 W. 45th St., New York City

Published monthly by the Photoplay Publishing Co., 350 N. Clark St., Chicago, 111.

Edwin M. Colvtn, Pres. James R. Quirk, Vice-Pres. R. M. Eastman, Sec.-Treas.

Yearly Subscription: $2.50 in the United States, its dependencies, Mexico and Cuba;
$3.00 Canada; $3.50 to foreign countries. Remittances should be made by check, or postal
or express money order. Caution — Do not subscribe through persons unknown to you.
Entered as second-class matter April 24, 1912, at the Postofnce at Chlcaec 111., under the Act ol March 3. 1879.

Photoplays Reviewed

in the Shadow Stage

This Issue

Save this magazine — refer to
the criticisms before you pick out
your evening's entertainment.
Make this your reference list.

Page 57

Bob Hampton of Placer Neilan

Deception Paramount-Artcraft

Page 58

Dream Street United Artists

Sacred and Profane Love

Paramount-Artcraft

Sentimental Tommy

Paramount-Artcraft

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. . . .

Goldwyn

Page 59

Peck's Bad Boy First National

Made in Heaven Goldwyn

Hush Equity

Page 60

The Sky Pilot First National

Chickens. . Thos. H. Ince-Paramount
The Queen of Sheba Fox

Page 68

The Passion Flower . .First National
The Charming Deceiver . .Yitagraph
What Happened to Rosa. . Goldwyn
The Perfect Crime .Associated Prod.
The Travelling Salesman Paramount

His Greatest Sacrifice Fox

Mother Eternal Abramson

Hands Off Fox

The Whistle Paramount

Roads of Destiny Goldwyn

The Lamp Lighter. Fox

The Dangerous Moment . .Universal

The Tom Boy Fox

The Freeze-Out Universal

Ducks and Drakes Realart

The Heart of Maryland. . Yitagraph
Desperate Youth Universal

Page 102

What's Your Reputation Worth?

Vitagraph

The Plaything of Broadway. Realart

Copyrizht. 1921. by the PHOTOPLAY PUBLISHING COMPANY, Chicago.

Contents — Continued

Photoplay Magazine's Gold Medal

Announcement and Second Voting Coupon.

The Photograph (Fiction)

A Contest Story with Strong Dramatic Interest.

Illustrated by T. D. Skidmore

Cornered! (Photograph)

Madge Kennedy, Now Visiting Behind the Footlights.

Mary Got Her Hair Wet Adela Rogers St. Johns

How Mary Thurman Discovered Her New Coiffure

Decorations by Ralph Barton

The House That Jokes Built Will Rogers

Will and the Architect Didn't Get Along.

The Lost Romance — (Fiction) Gene Sheridan

Told from the Photoplay.

Fashions Carolyn Van Wyck

Up-to-the-Minute Information.

Canterbury, Prussia

The Past and Future as Filmed in Germany.

Mother o' Mine

Charlie Chaplin's Reunion with His Mother.

W. Townend 30

(Photographs)

Joan Jordan

(Photographs)

"On Your Left, the Home of May Allison!'

A Star's Home, Inside and Out.

The Proper Abandon (Fiction) Barker Shelton

Romance on the City Streets. Illustrated by May Wilson Preston

West is East Delight Evans

Meeting Douglas McLean and Colleen Moore.

563^ Miles an Hour Bebe Daniels

When an Actress Was Jailed for Speeding

Close-Ups Editorial Comment

The Shadow Stage Burns Mantle

Reviews of the New Pictures.

"Jam Tomorrow — No Jam Today!" John G. Holme

Summary of a Fight Against Spurious Film Promoters.

Filming Lady Godiva's Ride

Drawing.

Questions and Answers

A "Peach" Column

Discovered on the Map of the U. S.

Oh, Yes, I Do Remember!

Verse

Plays and Players

News and Comment from the Studios.

Why Do They Do It?

Comment by the Movie-Goers.

Miss Van Wyck Says:

Answers to Fashion Correspondents.

Showing Them to the Indians
Movies on Wheels.

The Answer Man
J. R. O'Neill

Jordan Robinson

Cal. York

55
57

Norman Anthony 62

72
74
85
86
86

Addresses of the leading motion picture
studios will be found on Page 8.

Paying Off

Tour Debt

of Gratitude

FIVE minutes' time
and your obliga-
tion to the producer
of the best photoplay
of 1920 is cleared.

Perhaps you have
wished for some ade-
quate method of ex-
pressing your thanks
to the maker of that
photoplay which most
pleased you.

Here is that way.
On page 29 is an
announcement of the
details of

Photoplay

Magazines

Medal of

Honor

to be awarded to the pro-
ducer whose vision, faith
and organization made
the Best Photoplay
possible.
You are to be judge.

Read Page 29 — Then
Send in Your Vote !

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

111*4

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Besides, there is a decided personal enjoyment in playing the popular
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Lyon &. Healy Own Make Mandolin

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Try your Lyon & Healy mandolin or banjo for six days. Your
money refunded if you are not completely satisfied. Easy purchase
terms can be arranged. For full details, mail coupon below.

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Instantly a favorite with
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rnardo De Pace, the
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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

GNfiRMA TALMADGE

"who is now -working
on her next picture,

^generation Isle

HEN you see a First National trademark on the screen, you know that it stands
not only for fascinating entertainment, but the highest quality in production.

This is because First National pictures are made by independent artists in their own
studios — stars and producers who have no other aim in view than to present pictures
of the highest artistry and entertainment value. Unhampered by outside influences,
they are free to carry out their highest ideals.

Associated First National Pictures, Inc., is a nation wide organization of independent
theatre owners who are banded together to foster the production of more artistic pictures
and who are striving for the constant betterment of screen entertainment.

First National accepts for exhibition purposes the work of independent artists strictly on
its merit as the best in screen entertainment.

cAssociated First ^Ngtional Pictures, Inc.

FIRST
NATIONAL
PICTURES

oAsk Your Theatre Owner If He
Has a First National Franchise

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Studio Directory

For the convenience of our readers
who may desire the addresses of film
companies we give the principal active
ones below. The first is the business
office; (s) indicates a studio; in some
cases both are at one address.

ASSOCIATED PRODUCERS, INC..

729 Seventh Ave., N. Y.

(s) Maurice Tourneur, Culver City, Cal.
(s) Thos. H. Incc, Culver City, Cal.

J. Parker Read, Jr., Ince Studios, Cul-
ver City, Cal.
(s) Mack Sennett, Edendaje, Cal.
(s) Marshall Neilan, Hollywood Studios,
6642 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood,
Cal.
(s) Allan Dwan, Hollywood Studios, 6642
Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.
(s) Geo. Loane Tucker, Brunton Studios,

Hollywood, Cal.
King Vidor Productions, 7200 Santa
Monica Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.
BLACKTON PRODUCTIONS, INC., Bush

House, Aldwych, Strand, London, England.
ROBERT BRUNTON STUDIOS, 5300 Melrose

Ave., Hollywood, Cal.
CHRISTIE FILM CORP., 6101 Sunset Blvd.,

Hollywood, Cal.
EDUCATIONAL FILMS CORP., of America.

370 Seventh Ave., N. Y. C.
FIRST NATIONAL EXHIBITORS' CIRCUIT,
INC., 6 West 48th St., New York;
R. A. Walsh Prod.,

5341 Melrose Ave., Hollywood, Cal.
Mr. and Mrs. Carter De Haven. Prod.,

Louis B. Mayer Studios, L. A.
Anita Stewart Co., 3800 Mission Road,

Los Angeles, Cal.
Louis B. Mayer Productions, 3800 Mission

Road, Los Angeles Cal.
Norma and Constance Talmadge Studio,

318 East 48th St., New York.
Katherine MacDonald Productions,
Georgia and Girard Sts., Los Angeles,
Cal.
David M. Hartford, Prod.,

3274 West 6th St., Los Angeles, Cal.
Hope Hampton, Prod., Peerless Studios,
Fort Lee, N. J.
(s) Chas. Ray, 1428 Fleming St., Los Angeles.
FOX FILM CORP., (s) 10th Ave. and 55th St.,
New York; (s) 1401 Western Ave., Hollywood,
Cal.
GARSON STUDIOS, INC., 1845 Alessandro St.,

Edendale, Cal.
GOLDWYN FILM CORP., 469 Fifth Ave., New

York; (s) Culver City, Cal.
HAMPTON, JESSE B., STUDIOS, 1425 Flem-
ing St., Hollywood, Cal.
(s) HART, WM. S. PRODUCTIONS, 1215

Bates St.. Hollywood, Cal.
HOLLYWOOD STUDIOS, 6642 Santa Monica

Famous Plavers Studio, Pierce Ave. and

6th St., Long Island City, N. Y.
Lasky Studio, Hollywood, Cal.
PATHE EXCHANGE, Pathe Bldg., 35 W. 45th

St., New York.
REALART PICTURES CORPORATION. 469
Fifth Ave., New York; (s) 211 Nortli Occi-
dental Blvd., Los Angeles, Cal.
ROBERTSON-COLE PRODUCTIONS. 723
Seventh Ave., New York; Currier Bldg., Los
Angeles; (s) corner Gower and Melrose Sts.,
Hollywood, Cal.
ROTHACKER FILM MFG. CO., 1339 Diversey

Parkway, Chicago, 111.
SELZNICK PICTURES CORP., 729 Seventh
Ave., New York; (s) 807 East 175th St., New
York, and West Fort Lee, N. J.
UNITED ARTISTS CORPORATION, 729
Seventh Ave., New York.

Mary Pickford Co.. Brunton Studios,
Hollywood, Cal.; Douglas Fairbanks
Studios, Hollywood, Cal.; Charles Chaplin
Studios, 1416 LaBrea Ave.; Hollywood,

Cal.
D. W. Griffith Studios, Orienta Point,
Mamaroneck, N. Y.
UNIVERSAL FILM MFG. CO., 1600 Broad-
way, New York; (s) Universal City, Cal.
VITAGRAPH COMPANY OF AMERICA,
1600 Broadway, New York; (s) East 15th St.
and Locust Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y., and
1708 Talmadge St., Hollywood, Cal.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

HELENE CHADWKX - CLARA WILLIAMS - LOUISE FA2ENDA - RUTH ROLAND - RUTH STONEHOUSE • MAY ALLISON

In "The Wonder Book for Writers," which we will send to you ABSOLUTELY FREE, these famous Movie
Stars point out the easiest way to turn your ideas into stories and photoplays and become a successful writer.

Millions of People Can Write
Stories and Photoplays and

Dorit Know It/

THIS is the startling assertion re-
cently made by one of the highest
paid writers in the world. Is his
astonishing statement true? Can
it be possible there are countless thou-
sands of people yearning to write, who
really can and simply haven't found it out?
Well, come to think of it, most anybody
can tell a story. Why can't most anybody
write a story? Why is writing supposed to
be a rare gift that few possess? Isn't this
only another of the Mistaken Ideas the
past has handed down to us? Yesterday
nobody dreamed man could fly. To-day
he dives like a swallow ten thousand feet
above the earth and
laughs down at the
tiny mortal atoms
of his fellow-men
below! So Yester-
day's "impossibil-
ity" is a reality to-
day.

''The time will
come," writes the same
authority, "when mil-
lions of people will be
writers — there will be
countless thousands of
playwrights, novelists,
scenario, magazine and
newspaper writers —
they are coming, com-
ing— a whole new world
of them!" And do you
know what these writ-
ers-to-be are doing
now? Why, they are
the men — armies of
them — young and old.
now doing mere clerical
work in offices, keep-
ing books, selling mer-
chandise, or even driv-
ing trucks, running ele-
vators, street cars,
waiting on tables, work-
ing at barber chairs.
following the plow, or
teaching schools in the
rural districts; and
women, young and old.
by scores, now pound-
ing typewriters, or
standing behind coun-
ters, or running spin-
dles in factories, bend-
ing over sewing ma-

LETTERS LIKE THIS
ARE POURING IN!

Wash.

"Every obstacle that menaces
success can be mastered through
this simple but thorough system."
— MRS OLIVE MICHAUX.

Chahleeoi, Pa.

"It contains a gold mine of val-
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LEY, Mt. Yebno.n, III.

"I can only say that I am amazed
that it is possible to set forth the
principles of short story and photo-
play writing in such a clear, concise
manner" — GORDON
MATHEWS, Momiiui., Cam.

"I received your Irving System
some time ago. ft is the most re-
markable thing I have ever seen
Mr. Irving certainly lias made story
and plav writing amaiingly simple
and easv."— ALFRED HORTO,
Niagara FaLLS, N . Y.

"Of all the compositions I have
read on this subject, I find yours
the most helpful to aspiring au-
thors."—HAZEL SIMPSON NAY-
LOR. Litebabv EorToE, Motion
Pictube Magazine.

"With fhis volume before him,
the veriest novice should be able
to build stories or photoplavs that
will find a ready market. The best
treatise of its kind I have encoun-
tered in 24 years of newspaper and
literary work." — H . PIERCE
WELLER, Managing Eoitob,
The Blnguaufton Pblss.

"When I first saw your ad I was
working in a shop for S30 a week.
Always having worked with mv
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KINDON. Atlantic Cm. N J.

chines, or doing housework. Yes — you may laugh —
but these are The Writers of Tomorrow.

For writing isn't only for geniuses as most people
think. Don' I you believe the Creator gave you a story-
ivriting faculty just as He did the greatest writer'
Only maybe you are simply "bluffed" by the thought
that you "haven't the gift." Many people are
simply afraid to try. Or if they do try. and their
first efforts don't satisfy, they simply give up in
despair, and that ends it. They're through. They
never try again. Yet if, by some lucky chance, they
had first learned the simple rules of writing, and then
given the imagination free rein, they might have
astonished the world!

BUT two things are essential in order to become
a writer. First, to learn the ordinary principles
of writing. Second, to learn to exercise your
faculty of Thinking. By exercising a thing you
develop it. Your Imagination is something like your
right arm. The more you use it the stronger it gets.
The principles of writing are no more complex than
the principles of spelling, arithmetic, or any other
simple thing that anybody knows. Writers learn
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Supplement this treatment with the
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^ANST hear the strumming of the sweet guitar? Canst gaze into her limpid
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Alfred Cheney Johnston

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(They make us think of rare red roses, these shy and wide-eyed girlish poses.)

Alfred Cheney Johnston

wg&sBHStffiSEHS?*5

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cUhe World's Leading, Moving, (Pidlure Q^lagazine

PHOTOPLAY

Vol. xx July, 1921 No. 2

The Land of Might -Have -Been

EVERY boy and girl believes implicitly in a splendid destiny. He is sure
of vast accomplishment, of power, of fame. She is sure of changeless
admiration, of luxury, of perfect love.

As the spring of youth ripens into adult summer these dreams are blurred,
one by one; each day, somehow, the end of the rainbow seems farther away.

But it is the nature of hope to endure through changing its form. Success
lies always in the magic palm of tomorrow; tonight may be silent, but the
trumpet of triumph will ring in the morning; sudden fortune will vanquish the
infirmity of advancing years. And at the last we look to our children to perform
the tasks and reap the rewards in the performing and reaping of which we,
somehow, have failed.

The historians of art, strangely enough, have seldom seen it as the vicarious
triumphs of personal failure. The chroniclers tell us that the caveman celebrated
his huntings and his conquests in those vaunting pictures drawn in chalk upon
the walls of his rocky den. But is it not as likely that those great kills are the
kills he wished to make — and, somehow, didn't; that the victories are victories
of which he dreamed — but which were only partially turned into conquering
fact?

The sculptors of Greece left in their marble women a perfect beauty which
was probably a collection of attributes, and not the glory of any single female.
The painters of the Renaissance embalmed the splendors of their kindling age,
but not its ignorance, its uucleanness. The Romance was born to perpetuate
the loves and prowesses of Knights as they should have been — and weren't.

To increasing millions the Photoplay is the Youthful Vision, glorified.
The witch-doctors in the state-houses talk of it as adolescent philandering — it
is no such thing! It is the clearing of bright love for the woman who has some-
how lost her way in a forest of work and graying hair and worrying children.
It is that fine triumph for the father, who, somehow, missed his millions in
trying to pay off the thousand-dollar mortgage. It is the thrill of action for the
old man whose muscles atrophied at a desk. It is peace for the lonely wanderer
who has lost his own in too stem search for it.

The Photoplay is pre-eminently the Land of Might* Have-Been.

ELINOR — the Tiger

BELIEVE," affirms Mrs. Glyn, architect of "Three
Weeks,' "that in some previous incarnation each of
our souls dwelt in the body of an animal." Mr.
Barton, a-sketching along pepper-shaded Hollywood Bou-
levard, accordingly ranged into prehistoric time and caught
this flaming Titian spirit when she was a little Royal
Bengal. Mr. Barton, by the way, is now art-director for
Rex Ingram, who recently and with great success tamed
not only four wild horses, but an apocalypse. In the
smaller picture Mr. Ingram— standing— and Mr. Barton
are designing a new production. The hand on Mr.
Barton s left arm belongs to Alice Terry.

Is Marriage a Bunco Game?

Do you agree with
Mr. Hughes that

Courtship is a boomerang?
Wedding is an illusion?
Life long devotion a joke?

and that
If a man has a wife he doesn'
like, he should get rid of her
as soon as possible?

As explained by

Rupert Hughes,

to
Adela Rogers St. Johns

Illustrated by stills from Mr Hughes' original

photoplay, "Dangerous Curves Ahead, ' to

he released by Goldwyn in the fail.

ARRIAGE is the
greatest bunco
game in the
world."

There are very few people
who have the courage to tell
the truth — or what they be-
lieve to be the truth — about
anything, much less mar-
riage.

Rupert Hughes is one of
them.

The fact that his keen
sense of humor usually leads
him to be light, witty, face-
tious about it, doesn't pre-
vent him from voicing
strange, fundamental ideas
without fear or favor.

It is the generally ac-
cepted theory that the less
said seriously about the in-
stitution of modern, mo-
nogamous marriage, the
better.

Nevertheless, "Mar-
riage," says Rupert Hughes,
'is the greatest bunco game
in the world."

And he says it, dog-on
him. in black and white.

It is a sub-title in his new
picture "Dangerous Curves

Ahead." just completed on the Goldwyn lot, where Mr. Hughes
is now a member of the group of E. A's (Eminent Authors).
The picture deals with married life "as is," and since it comes
from the pen of the man who wrote "The 13th Commandment"
and "We Can't Have Everything" it is bound to receive at
least respectful consideration from the public. And it is there
that the above dynamic phrase appears.

We lunched together in the Goldwyn cafeteria — you always
have to lunch with these people if you're ever to see them off a
set — and I asked him to explain to me just what he meant. I
agreed with him, but I wondered if he meant what I meant.

He is a fascinating man to listen to — this famous novelist. I
think I have never met a man who so thoroughly enjoyed talk-
ing and it's so refreshing nowadays to meet anyone who has
any enthusiasm about anything. If he were less interesting, if
he had less vital and thrilling things to say, he would be over-
powering, eventually tiresome, because human beings, even
interviewers, have only a certain capacity for listening. As it
is, he holds you alert every moment, afraid that he will stop,
hoping each time he touches a new theme that he will elaborate
it fully. What he says is always so unusual, so brilliant, so
mirth-provoking, and very often so deep that you have to put
on your mental diving clothes to follow.

Rupert Hughes is a novelist, photoplaywright, musician and

composer. A camera-man caught him as he was improvising

piano on a Goldwyn stage during the filming of

gerous Curves Ahead.

at tt

He is the only person I
have ever interviewed where
my part in the ordeal con-
sisted of "How-do-you-do"
and "Thank you— good-by."
He needs no promptings, no
coaxings, no guiding hand.
He is a thinker — a man ac-
customed to thoroughly
digesting a subject. He
speaks from his thoughts,
never from his emotions,
and a remarkable, intense
study of history and life
gives him a background
filled with incident, color,
and experience.

A small man, rather in-
clined to plumpness, but of
distinguished appearance,
nevertheless. Around, gen-
ial, sympathetic face, with
black, snapping eyes indica-
tive of his stupendous men-
tal activity, a strong, dogged
jaw, almost obstinate, and
a kindly, humorous, human
mouth.

"There isn't anything in
the world, " began Rupert
H u ghes, i n a clear voice that
clips each word very de-
cisively, "about which so
much is thought, said, and written as marriage. Everybody is
married, has been married, or is in danger of getting married.
Besides, it is far from being a sex problem alone. It is social,
economic, political. It is so important that Bernard Shaw
once said of it, 'There is no shirking it; if marriage cannot 1 c
made to produce something better than we are. marriage will
have to go, or else the nation will have to go.' (Of course hi
was talking about England.)

"Now in the first place, let us discuss facts, not opinions, nr
emotions, nor philosophies. I know of nothing which the
average man or woman meets so seldom as a fact.

"For instance, one of the logical facts of marriage is that il a
man has a wife he doesn't like, he should get rid of her as soon
as he possibly can.

"If a man gets a cinder in his eye, he takes it out, or gets
somebody to take it out for him, because it annoys and pains
him and interferes with his business in life. He doesn't go
about holding on to it and saying, 'God put this cinder in my
eye, therefore I must let it remain there.' Or. if he asks a
friend to take it out, the friend doesn't throw up his hands in
horror and say 'This cinder and this eye which God hath joined
let no man put asunder,' or words to that effect.

"Yet that's the kind of bunco that marriage is full of.

Dan-

Photoplay Magazine

"It's a bunco game from its very beginning — the courtship.

"Sanely considered, do you know of any other one thing
that contains so much pure bunk as courtship? I don't.

"Two human beings, who are about to enter into a contract
to spend all the rest of their earthly lives together, to eat,
sleep, work, play, suffer, enjoy, as one — go through
days, weeks, months, years of systematic and
elaborate deception, with the prime object of
fooling each other. Like a couple of
crooked horse traders, they deliberately
set about to display only their best
gaits and coats, chuckling gleefully A

over every defect they 'put over' on
each other.

"Courtship might be described
as a sowing of boomerangs — with
marriage as the harvest.

"The girl wears her best
dresses and her best smiles.
She displays her best in charm
and disposition. Her main
object is to keep her busband-
to-be from knowing that she
has a temper like Cleopatra
and a 34-inch waist. Small
brother is the only one who
ever inadvertently breaks up
the family conspiracy of bun-
co. And of course all this
goes the other way round, too.

"The old vaudeville jokes
about the bride who celebrated
her bridal night by removing
her hair and some of her teeth,
is founded upon deep psy-
chology.

"It was once my ambition to
write a play, in which several en-
gaged, or about-to-be engaged, cou-
ples on a house party, were suddenly
involved in a combination of circum-
stances which automatically displayed
their worst sides in everything physical
and mental — and then what happened.

"But m y wife
wouldn't let me.

"Yet after you're
married, it's an even
money bet that the
most adoring couple
in the world will have
moments, hours, of
matrimonial existence
when they are con-
scious only of their
partner's faults, and
all virtue flies out the
window. Then they
exclaim, 'This is the
original shell game.'

"Now some horses,
for example, break
easily in double har-
ness. Some never
work well any other
way. Some, on the
other hand, have to
be tied, whipped and
beaten into it, after
which they may make
the best team horses
in the world. Others
never will travel dou-
ble, no matter what
you do.

"And no good
horsemanis obsessed with the idea that merely putting them in
double harness is going to make them work well together.

"Nevertheless, it is the generally-accepted theory that the
magic spell of marriage, in the case of human beings, imme-
diately overcomes all such difficulties. A bit of hocus-pocus
with a ring, a few words that if you study them carefully will

(Above) "Quarrels are the gymnas-
tics of matrimony Its an

even bet that the most adoring cou-
ple will have moments, hours, when
they are conscious only of their
partner s faults.

appall you with their absurdities, a lot of illusions about veils,
orange blossoms — and human nature is altered, all is rosy,
life-long devotion and happiness have been arranged.
"Now what is the use of all that?
"It isn't true. It never has been true.

"Then these two, deluded mortals, whom Society
and that strange emotion called love have
combined to blindfold to every essential fact
and every atom of necessary education,
are put on a train marked Paradise.
And even their mothers and fathers,
who have been wrecked on that same
line, smile moistly and say 'Isn't it
beautiful?' If by any chance that
train is side-tracked, runs up a
spur into a gravel bank, or goes
oft the track completely, they
mustn't get out and walk, they
mustn't above all things call for
help, or ask to be hauled out.
No, there they are and there
they must stay.

"That is the sort of obvious
idiocy that it seems to me we
should outgrow.

"You can't tell much about
marriage — I grant you that.
'Some like it hot and some
like it cold' as we said in the
nursery rhyme. There are
women who worry themselves
to death if a man doesn't save
his money, and there are
women who despise him if he
does. There are women who
loathe a man if he ever looks in a
mirror, and there are others who
will drag him all over town and
dress him up in pink shirts and
lavender neckties. There are women
who die at the mere thought that
their husbands are aware of a female
sex still existing outside themselves —
and there are others who can stand infi-
delity better than the
myriad forms of pet-
ty sins, such as mis-
chief-making, lying,
idleness, discourtesy.
In other words, some
women would rather
be married to Bill
Sykes than Uriah
Heap.

"So, as I say, you
can't tell anything
about marriage. But
at least you can take
every precaution, and
every advantage pos-
sible. Let courtship
become a period not
of rosy deceit but of
honest trial acquaint-
ance. For obvious
moral reasons, I do
not advocate trial
marriage. But I
don't see why the
period of courtship
should not serve
many of its practical
aims, and become an
open.decentendeavor
tobecomeacquainted.
"Of course there
are thousands of husbands and wives who never get acquainted.
Perhaps it's just as well.

"Another tradition of the bunco game of marriage is that
certain professions — especially certain arts — cause matrimonial
grief1 — that temperament is confined to a select number of occu-
pations; that it is safer to marry a blacksmith than a sculptor.

(Below) Courtship is a sort of

boomerang. . . . The girl wears
her best dresses ana smiles. She
displays her best in charm and dis-
position . . . It is a conspiracy of
bunco.

Photoplay Magazine

"As a matter of fact, street car conductors have just as
many chances for infidelity as actors, and the most temper-
amental man I ever knew was a mechanic.

"I once wrote a book about the love affairs of great musicians.
Musicians are supposedly the last word in temperament, are
supposed to be given to strange and unusual love vagaries, and
to wild and untamed ideas con-
cerning the tender passion. '

"Vet in my investigation, I
discovered that Bach had two
wives — at different times — and
twenty children, to whom he
was completely devoted and
that he was an exemplary hus-
band and father; that Handel,
who at one time ran an opera
company, had absolutely no
use for women ; when one prima
donna annoyed him he held
her out of the second story win-
dow and threatened to drop her
if she didn't behave; that Bee-
thoven had thirty-six passion-
ate love affairs and never mar-
ried at all, while Mozart was
married, adored his wife with a
deep tenderness, was very hap-
py with her, but was sweetly
and more or less casually un-
faithful to her all his life, in
spite of which she spent the
years after his death writing a
beautiful and inspired history
of his life, in collaboration with
her second husband !

"Could there be four more
widely different histories?

"Nor are men and women so
different. That is one of the
oldest bunco game rules in the
world. Of course, there are
women who prefer any kind of
matrimonial hell to single
blessedness and there are men
who are as much domestic ani-
mals as cows. There are also
women who regard the mar-
riage tie with the same degree
of reverence as the celebrated
Don Juan.

"Naturalists say that the
only true love affairs are among
the birds. I never saw any
great evidences of marital fidel-
ity around my chicken yard.

"The greatest joke about the
■whole thing is the theory of
permanency being a moral
necessity in marriage, re-
gardless of what price is
paid by man, woman, or
by common decency.
The only philosophy I
have about marriage is
divorce.

"Divorce should be
as simple, inexpensive
and private as marriage.

"You don't ask people
why they want to get mar-
ried.

"You shouldn't ask them
why they want to get divorced.

"In any game that's straight you
can always get up and cash in when-
ever you want to. It ought to be that
way with marriage.

"If you leave the door open, even a cell doesn't seem like a
prison. If the door of divorce is left open on marriage, a lot of
people would quit trying so hard to get out. And a lot of
them wouldn't have to be sneaking out at the windows.

"The idea that moral and civic decency can be elevated or

(Above) "Every wife enjoys
remembering her courtship
. . . when her main object
was in trying to keep her hus-
band from knowing that she
had a temper like Cleopatra."

upheld by a law that encourages and necessitates hidden evils
of every kind and class is as foolish as supposing a board is
sound because its surface upturned to the sun is sound. Turn
it over and if it has been on wet ground you will find it covered
with filth and vermin of every kind.

"At one time there was a period of 150 years in Rome when

all a man had to do to divorce
his wife was to give back the
money her father had bestowed
on them, and then send her a
notice that she was divorced.
It worked admirably. There
were practically no divorces in
tli at period.

"If such a law were passed
today — operative both ways —
a lot of selfish, lazy wives
would buckle on their armour
and a lot of unkind, unfaithful
husbands would begin to take
notice. When you know you're
in danger of losing something,
you always try to keep it, even
if it's only a husband.

"There should of course be a
time between the filing of
notice for divorce and its
accomplishment. I am not ad-
vocating that if a husband
doesn't like the way his chops
are cooked he should divorce
his wife in the forenoon, or
that if a wife is displeased
with the way her husband says
'Good-morning' to Mrs. Jones
across the street she should be
freed before nightfall.

"But I do say that when dis-
like has been born between two
people, when either of them
desires to be free, and that de-
sire stands the test of a certain
period of time, divorce should
be simple and unquestioned.
"In South Carolina, where
they have the silliest divorce
laws (or lack of them) in the
world outside of England, you
cannot get a divorce on any
ground whatever. Does any-
one pretend that South Car-
olina is any more moral than
any other state? Ask North
Carolina.

"Marriage, says religion, is
a sacrament. I am aware of
that. But it was not till the
Christian church was 1400
years old that it was made
a sacrament. But grant-
ing it is one, then
divorce becomes a duty
when the spiritual
qualities which made
it sacramental have
vanished. Otherwise
the sacrament is pro-
faned— as is any other
sacrament when it is re-
ceived with defiled hands
and without the inward
grace to support the outward
symbol.
"It would be un-American, it
would be tyranny of the worst kind,
to force two people to marry who did not
want to — or to force two people to marry when only
one wanted to. Then it is worse to force them to live together.
"I have been married a good many years myself — I am ex-
ceedingly happy and contented in my married life. Outside of
quarreling violently, which I consider merely the gymnastics
of matrimony, we have evolved a (Continued on page 92)

(Below) "There are thou-
sands of husbands and wives
who never get acquainted.
. . . The courtship should be
an open, decent endeavor to
become acquainted.

A Hoot

For

Haughty

Landlords!

NOT that Elsie Ferguson would
ever let such a patois pass her
lips. Still, her smile seems to say
it as she stands in the door of her
portable dressing room.

Why should she care, if the very
rich gentleman who owns the
apartment house in which she
lives in Manhattan decides to buy
four or five new washing ma-
chines for his wife? She fears not
eviction, raised rents or poor
plumbing. For she can always
pack her things and take perma-
nent possession of the little -house
on wheels, in Paramount's Long
Island City studio.

LET the California film stars nave
their toy bungalows — Miss Fer-
guson is satisfied. Her house can be
pushed from one part of the huge
stage to another with little effort.
When her presence is required in a
new set she simply asks Peter Props
to push her dressing-room after her.
I his system, of course, does away
with the necessity of having to con-
struct a miniature dressing-room
every time the setting is changed dur-
ing the production of a picture. Ob-
serve, above. Miss Ferguson in the
bizarre East Indian costume she
wears in her new characterization of
a Russian actress, about to enter the
trick dressing-room.

And here — an interior view.
Just as snug and satisfying
as a real boudoir, isn't it?

A certain comedy queen,

turning to greater things,

reveals the kinship between

smiles and tears.

By JOAN JORDAN

SHE is the product of ultra-sophis-
tication.
She is the embodiment of the
20th Century — the incarnation of
Paris after the war.

Her simplicity is the simplicity of the
"petit Trianon."

Her worldly wisdom has been absorbed
through the tips of her fingers, in the air
she breathed, the very thoughts the world
is thinking.

She is as soft as a summer cloud and as
hard as a diamond.

"She is Laughter, she is Torment, she
is Town."

Little Marie Prevost — with the eyes of
a wood nymph and the ankles of a
Follies queen.

She might be fourteen — eighteen —
twenty. Her extreme youth holds all the
intriguing promises of immaturity. Her
appeal is suggestion. Yet neither the
freshness of her cheek nor the firmness of
her flesh hide the open secret that her
youth is the youth of city pavements and
white lights.

Her soft, gray crepe de chine sport
frock s pelled girlish modesty, conceived in
the rue de la Paix. The little flesh-colored
veil drawn over the tip of her saucy nose
stood as. a badge of debutante allure.

Curled beneath a counterpane of fine
white linen, she could spend an evening
reading "Little Women" or "Limehouse
Nights" with equal understanding and
enjoyment-

Marie Prevost is a living testimony of
all that youth means today — of all that it
may achieve, accomplish, stand for in an
industry .and art that is itself stilkin its
youth.

A slim slip of a thing, possessing just
the average of education — she is a wage
earner, a big tax payer, a power and factor
in an enormous business.

In the two weeks since she terminated

her contract with Sennett — by mutual

consent, but at her plea — she has had two

splendid offers for long-term contracts.

(Continued on page 101)

She lias managed the difficult feat of being funny without looking
funny. (Allegory posed by a famous photographer, entitled,
"Diogenes Quest Resumed. ' Honest men will please form in line.)

Wally's sartorial perfection does not
match his expression. When gentlemen
drinking wine look like that, their
evening clothes never look like that !

Isn t he the old scounder-ell ? He has

told her that this is a bottle of Pommery

Sec (hush — be more respectful!) when,

really, it is mere cider.

Tush! How obvious! One would fancy this to be a pathetic

scene between husband and wife, or at least, brother and sister.

Nothing of the kind. The lady is simply the agent of the Society

for the Prevention of Death by Wood Alcohol.

PAGE MR. VOLSTEAD!

We admit we're stumped. What is Elliott Dexter trying
to put across? Why the admonitory finger of the
hypotenuse in this mysterious scene? But then they
drink the Cursed Stuff in any old manner nowadays.

That's the way it is, these days. One hurries into a
law office or the stockbrokers' and expects to hear bad
news. Then there is a sly wink and — presto! —
appears a tall black bottle— according to the movies.

Announcing

THE PHOTOPLAY

MAGAZINE
MEDAL OF HONOR

Why it is needed — What it will mean — How YOU will award it.

WAR has its crosses, the exhibition its ribbons,
the athlete his palm, and literature its Nobel
prize. So far, there has been no distinctive
commemoration of singular excellence in the field of
the photoplay. After long consideration Photo-
play Magazine has determined to permanently
establish an award of merit, a figurative winning-post,
comparable to the dignified and greatly coveted prizes
of war and art.

The Photoplay Magazine Medal of Honor will be.
awarded for the best photoplay of the year.

It will be awarded to the producer — not to the
director, not to the distributor — but to the producer
whose vision, faith and organization made the Best
Photoplay a possibility.

It will be of solid gold, and will be executed by
Tiffany and Company, of New York. With the pass-
ing years — for it is to be an annual affair — it will
become an institution, a lasting tribute of significance
and artistic value.

Perhaps the most important feature of this announce-
ment is the identification of the jury which will make
the selection. Like Abraham Lincoln's ideal govern-

ment, the photoplay is by, of, and for the people; and
any decision as to its greatest achievement can come
only from the people. The million readers of Photo-
play Magazine are to choose the winner — they and
no critics, editors, or other professional observers.
These million readers are the flower of fandom — the
screen's most intelligent public — yourselves. In case
of a tie, decision shall be made by three disinterested
people.

Fill out this coupon and mail it, naming the picture
which, after comparison and reflection, you consider
the finest photoplay released during the year 1920.
These coupons will appear in four successive issues,
of which this is the second. All votes must be received
in Photoplay's New York office not later than Octo-
ber 1st. Below is a list of fifty carefully selected
photoplays of last year. You do not necessarily have
to choose one of these, but if your choice is outside
this list, be sure it is a 1920 picture.

Choose your picture because of merits of theme,
direction, action, continuity, setting and photography,
for these are the qualities which, in combined excel-
lence, make great photoplays.

Suggested List of Best Pictures of 1920

Behind the Door

Branding Iron

Copperhead

Cumberland Romance

Dancin' Fool

Devil's Pass Key

Dinty

Dollars and the Woman

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Earthbound

Eyes of Youth

Garage

Gay Old Dog

Great Redeemer

Heart of the Hills

Huckleberry Finn

Humoresque

Idol Dancer

In Search of a Sinner

Something to Think About

Jes1 Call Me Jim

Jubilo

Love Flower

Luck of the Irish

Madame X.

Man Who Lost Himself

Mollycoddle

On With the Dance

Overland Red

Over the Hill

Passion

Pollyanna

Prince Chap

Remodelling a Husband

Right of Way

River's End

Romance . .

Scoffer

Scratch My Back

Trumpet Island

Suds

Thirteenth Commandment

Thirty-nine East

Toll Gate

Treasure Island

Virgin of Stamboul
Way Down East
Why Change Your Wife?
Wonder Man
World and His Wife

Photoplay Medal of Honor Ballot

Editor Photoplay Magazine, 25 W. 45th St., N. Y. City
In my opinion the picture named below is the best motion
picture production released in 1920.

Name

N'AM'd OF PICTURE

Adrlrps's

Use this coupon or other blank paper filled out in similar form.

A Dramatic Tale, Entered in PHOTOPLAY'S Fiction Contest —

The PHOTOGRAPH

Wherein an old man's memory almost
wrecks a perfect honeymoon.

By W. TOWNEND

Illustrated by T. D. Skidmore

SOL GRITTING, the proprietor of the hotel at White
Gap, leant forward in his chair and knocked the ashes
from his corn cob pipe out on to the stone hearth in
front of him.

"Gosh-ormighty!" he said. "Listen to that. Lucy! Seems
like winter has set in right early this year, hey!"

Lucy, his daughter, who had kept house for him ever since
the death of Abe Drackett, her husband, ten years before, sat
on the other side of the big open fire-place, piled high with
glowing red-hot pine logs. She did not answer when he spoke
to her, but went on with her knitting, almost as though nothing
he could say were important enough to cause her to raise her
eyes, even for a fraction of a second, from her work.

To Sol's way of thinking, his daughter's one fault was her
lack of interest in His conversation. That he had told her all
he had to tell her hundreds of times before seemed but a poor
excuse. No right-minded man or woman, let alone his own
daughter, should have grown tired of hearing his stories of
the real California, the California of his younger days, when
men were brave and true and proud of their honor, and the
women were all beautiful and pure, and tongues were guarded
and justice was swift, as swift sometimes as the pressing of a
trigger, and money was plentiful, and the air was like crystal
and the sun had not yet lost its warmth nor the skies their
blueness.

Sol gave a little sigh and listened to the steady beat of the
rain on the windows of the dining room and the swishing sound
of the wind in the branches of the pine trees.

"Bad night, ain't it? Whew! Gittin' old, I guess, ain't I?"
He groaned as he leant forward once more to place another
log on the fire. "I mind me jest such another October in . . .
now, let me see ..." He frowned and stared thoughtfully
into the blaze and then he must have dozed, for all at once he
was roused by his head falling forward. He straightened up
quickly and pretended that he had been thinking. "Yeh,
Lucy, I forget now which October it was when we got the rain
... I clean forget ." . . " He broke off, then, feeling that
he had touched on a dangerous topic. He was seventy, it was
true, and when the weather was damp, he found it difficult to
get around as easily as in the past; but seventy was not really
old ! He would be old when he was eighty, perhaps, or eighty-
five, but at seventy . . . seventy was almost the prime of
life. He was still in possession of all his faculties and his
memory was as good as ever . . .

He grunted and stuffed more tobacco into his pipe.

His daughter roused herself.

"Dad, ain't you smokin' too much to-night? It's gittin'
late, it's twenty minutes of nine already. Before you know
where you are it 'ull be time fer bed." She paused, her plump,
pink face suddenly alert. "Listen a minute . . . ain't that
an auto comin'?"

Sol frowned. His hearing was excellent, and always had
been ; surely if Lucy could hear, he could hear, too ! He watched
his daughter's expression anxiously. And so, although he had
heard nothing but the wind and the rain and the crackling of
the fire, when Lucy nodded her head sharply and raised her
eyebrows with a look of astonishment, he too nodded and
looked astonished.

He even judged that it was safeto offer a remark.

"Say, what the hell they doin' this time uh night, hey?"

He was relieved when he heard at that moment the unmis-
takable sound of the hooting of a motor horn.

Lucy was on her feet.

" Dad, " she said, "here's folks comin'. I got to git busy. "

Sol groaned. The pain in his back made him slow in his
movements.

"Gosh! Say, I'd better see who it is."

Lucy turned and made her way to the door. " In yer stockin'
feet! You won't do nothin' of the kind. First thing you'll
know you'll be down with pneumony. " She stopped. " Better
go into the kitchen an' see what them kids uh mine are up to.
Tell Billy to git the lantern ready. Them folks 'ull want to
put the auto up in the barn. An' hurry up! ..."

"Whew!" Sol stood up. "Now, where in thunder did I
put them blame' shoes uh mine?"

* * * *

""THE two guests, a Mr. and Mrs. Wainton, from San Fran-
*■ cisco, so they had written in the register, came down-
stairs at last and entered the dining room, hand in hand.

Sol chuckled. At a glance he had seen that this quiet,
pleasant-looking young man with the friendly smile and the
tall, slender girl, who wore a big gray coat over a cream silk
waist and a gray tweed skirt, were on their honeymoon. He
greeted them warmly.

"Mrs. Wainton, Air. Wainton, I hope you're satisfied with
your room. I'd be obliged if you'd let me know if you ain't.
Will you take the rocker, ma'm, in front of the fire ... a
terr'ble rough night, ain't it!"

The girl, a pretty girl with dark brown hair and eyes as
blue as the Californian skies had been in the far-off past and
cheeks flushed the color of the pink roses that grew on the porch
in summer, smiled at him.

"Thank you, Mr. Gritting, very much."

Sol, encouraged by their friendliness, felt that later, when
they had eaten their supper, he would tell them some of his
stories. He squared his shoulders and beamed.

"I don't remember such a night as this, early in October,
since ... let me see now ..." He frowned in the
effort to remember the date that had slipped his memory.
"Oh! I got it now . . . not fer fifteen years. No, sir,
not fer fifteen years. We had winter mighty early that year,
same as it looks we'll have it thissen."

The girl wriggled her arms free from her big coat.

"It's nice and warm, isn't it?" She held out her hands to
the blaze.

"Are you cold, Peggy?" asked the husband.

"No, but I was just about frozen coming up the hill ..."

"Were you lost, Mr. Wainton?" asked Sol.

"Lost! No. We got stalled on the road, that's all. We
were hoping to make Santa Teresa by dark, but there was too
much mud." And then the young man laughed and apolo-
gized. "Not that I'm sorry, Mr. Gritting. I'm very glad
that we've had the opportunity of seeing your hotel ... very
glad, indeed. Isn't that so, Peggy?"

"Why, yes," said the girl slowly. "Why, of course."

"Once upon a time," said Sol, plunging into the past, "we
used to have guests a-plenty . . . the year round. But
now . . . shucks! Californy ain't what it used to be . .
we ain't troubled much between the end of September an'
May. You'd be surprised. I guess it's them motor-cars .. . .
folks won't come anywheres 'less the roads is like boulevards
. . . that's a fact, now, ain't it? My day, Mr. Wainton, we
used to do all our trav'llin' by buckboard or horseback, but
times is changed . . . yes, Mr. Wainton, times is changed."

"His eyes is like snakes and he's looking at the girl like he hates her."

Photoplay Magazine

All of a sudden the girl shivered as though cold and turned
in her chair and glanced quickly over her shoulder with such
a curious expression in her eyes that Sol was startled.

"Hello, Peggy!" said her husband. "You said you were
warm!"

" I am warm, " she said.

For a moment she sat, gazing into the fire, with her hands
folded in her lap, and then before Sol could remember what he
was saying, she turned and looked over her shoulder once more,
just as though she had heard someone approaching her chair.

"Is anything the matter, Mrs. Wainton?" Sol asked.

Beyond the range of the lamp that hung over the table, laid
for supper, with a white cloth and silver and china cups and
saucers and plates, the
room was in deep shadow,
nevertheless he could see
clearly that there was no
one in that part of the
room toward which she
was looking.

"Why," she said lightly,
"how funny!"

"How do you mean,
funny?" asked her hus-
band. "Why do you keep
turning round, Peggy . . .
what's up?"

She laughed.

" I don't know. I guess,
Mr. Gritting, you'll think
I'm most strange . . . but
I felt just now as clearly
as anything that there was
someone in the room with
us ..."

The husband broke into
a shout of laughter.

"Lord, Peggv! what
next?"

BUT Sol saw that the girl
was, for some reason
or other, worried. Her
color had faded. She
looked strangely tired.

"It's gone now," she
said doubtfully. "But I
tell you, Tony, I felt there
was someone trying to
speak to me . . . some-
one who was unhappy and
in need of help! Queer,
isn't it! I've never been
so silly before, have I?
Me, of all people!"

The kitchen door opened
and Lucy appeared to say
that supper was ready.

"Here, Dad," she said,
"you'd better take this tray

Sol hurried toward her.

It s a wise author w

ho kr

I'll bring along the other one."

"It ain't much, Mrs. Wainton," she said when all the
dishes were on the table, "but it's the best we can do at such
short notice."

Sol was amused. "She'd say that, Mr. Wainton, uh course.
Guess I shouldn't be praisin' up what I'm pervidin' myself,
but there's a bit of undercut steak thar an' creamed chicken
an' French fried potatoes an' a savory omelette . . . an' hot
biscuits . . . gosh! them biscuits 'ull melt in yer mouth!
. . . an' a jug uh coffee . . . say, I don't believe you'd git a
more tasty supper than this not even in one uh them swell
joints in Market Street, San Francisco ... no, sir!"

Half an hour later Mr. Wainton leant back in his chair and
laughed.

"Peggy, Mr. Gritting was right about the supper. I never
tasted a finer apple pie in my life, did you?"

"I never did," said the girl. "Mrs. Drackett's a wonderful
cook. I'm almost ashamed of myself, I've eaten so much!"

"Why, Mrs. Wainton," said Sol, "most folks eat a-plenty
up in this air: they can't help it! Mr. Wainton, you'll have
some more pie . . . my darter will be hurt if you don't . . .
there's another in the kitchen!"

"Mr. Gritting, if my future happiness depended on my eating
more pie right now, why, I'd have to be miserable for the rest
of my life. I passed my limit about two pieces back." He
looked at his wife. "Now, Peggy, if you've finished, what
about your going to bed? You're dead tired . . ."

But the girl shook her head. "No, Tony, not yet." She
rose to her feet. " I think I'll sit by the fire." Then as she
moved across to the big rocking chair she stopped suddenly
and seemed to be listening.
And again Sol was startled.

"Was there anything you wanted, Mrs. Wainton?" he
asked.

"No, Mr. Gritting . . . nothing, thank you." '

"Guess, then, I'll clear
the table, if you've no
objection, so that Lucy
can git straight before
bedtime."

"Certainly," said the
girl. She smiled at her
husband who was stand-
ing by her side, staring
down at her very seriously.
"Mr. Gritting," she went
on, "this is a very old
house, isn't it?"

"Yes, Mrs. Wainton,"
said Sol, "it is. An' if it
wasn't too late fer you, I
could tell you some things
about it that would sur-
prise you."

He waited, wondering if
these very pleasant guests
of his would be sufficiently
interested to ask him the
question he hoped to hear.
They were interested,
obviously.

"It's not too late for my
husband and myself, Mr.
Gritting," said the girl
quicklv. "Is it too late
for you?"

Too late! When he had
listeners at last?, Sol
smiled. Only those, who
did not know Sol Gritting
would have said that. He
felt that he had never be-
fore met a couple whom he
liked so much at such
short acquaintance.

As soon as he had
finished his work he said
that he was ready to talk;
that was, if they still
thought that they would
like to listen.
"Sit down, Mr. Gritting," said the girl. "Tony, offer Mr.
Gritting a cigar. That's better, isn't it? And now, tell me
. . ." She leant toward him, her elbow on the arm of her
chair, her chin resting in the palm of her hand, her cheeks
flushed, her eyes very bright and watchful. A pretty girl,
Sol decided . . . wonderfully pretty ... as pretty a girl as
he had ever seen. "Mr. Gritting," she said, "tell me . . .
did anything ever happen here ... at White Gap?"

Sol inspected his cigar and smiled the smile of a man who
knows that he has a story to relate that is as good a story as
one could want.

"Well, we ain't exactly off the map at White Gap," he said.
"Didn't something happen once upon a time in this very
room?" said the girl. "Something terribly tragic!"

Sol opened his eyes very wide and gazed at her in amazement.
"How did vuh know that, Mrs. Wainton?"
"I didn't know ... I felt it!"

Oh! so that was it, was it? Sol puffed at his cigar and
rubbed his thin knees and nodded his head. She had felt that
something tragic had happened in the room! That was queer,
wasn't it? Darn queer! Women was queer, anyways,
doggone it! All women, even a girl as pretty and as nice
looking and intelligent as this girl! It (Continued on page 96)

s own scenarios.

Edward Tbayer Monroe

CORNERED

— and cornered so effectually, by the new play of that name, that she is temporarily cut off

rem all roads to the studio. Once more Madge Kennedy is a genuine "New York Success "

little or much as that may mean. But it's no hazard to guess that she's only visiting behind

the curtain; no place is home where they haven't cameras and cooper-hewitts.

An Impression of
Mary Thurman,
by Ralph Barton

Photography by
Alfred Cheney Johnston

The way the hairdresser fixed it.

Mary
Got
Her
Hair

Wet

ADELA ROGERS

ST. JOHNS

She did this herself.

WE were sitting about a corner table at Sunset Inn.
It was Photoplayers' night, and it was getting late.
Suddenly there was a commotion near the door.
People were craning their necks to see.

We decided the place was pinched and began to think up
phoney names.

But we discovered that Mary Thurman had just come in.

They were looking at her hair.

One afternoon we were in the dressing room at the Alexandria.

A crowd had gathered in one corner. Everybody was talking
at once to some girl.

We wondered if she had been drinking wood alcohol.

She hadn't.

It was .Mary Thurman. All the nice tea-drinking ladies were
looking at — and talking about — her hair.

On a Saturday afternoon a few days later we walked into the
Ambassador for tea — Mary Thurman and I.

Everybody turned around to stare.

I wondered frantically if I had forgotten my petticoat.

"It's only my hair," said Mary Thurman patiently.

While the waiter disappeared on the quest of the orange
pekoe, I examined this interesting hair. Some people are fa-
mous for one thing and some are famous for another. Mary
Thurman is famous for a number of things including the way
she used to look in a bathing suit. But it is chiefly her hair
that makes you feel like you were riding in a circus parade,
the way people act.

It is very wonderful — that .hair. Xo wonder even Cecil
deMille turned around to stare at it. (He did once. Mary
told me so.)

It is Paris. It is Egypt. It is Hollywood. It is the Ital-
ian Lakes.

Whether or not it is beautiful, I do not know.

To me it suggests Cleopatra barbered on Hollywood Boule-
vard.

It is the last word in chic, in fashion. It is so startling it
annoys, so gorgeous it allures.

I don't like it a bit and I adore it.

It is an Irishism.

Maxfield Parrish designed the set and Lawrence Hope wrote
the scenario for it.

I looked at the other women near us — a debutante with
fluffy golden curls, a Xew Yorker witli elaborate black coiffure
under a drooping hat — marcels, bobs, puffs, rolls, curls, slicks,
there were all types.

Then I looked back at Mary Thurman's. (She had taken off

her big white hat and flung it on a chair. It was very warm
in the tea room.)

It looked as simple, as natural, as restful as a wheat field.
It is a rich deep red, with a sheen of pansy purple velvet.
It has an alive-ness that makes you wonder if you would get an
electric shock by touching it.

Cut straight across at the nape of the neck, just below the
ears, straight across in a long heavy bang on the forehead, it
looked as smooth as whipped cream. Straight as an Indian
boy's, it was as exhilarating as a rare perfume.

And, oh, what a comfort. To run a comb and brush through
your hair and have it done!

It was a great idea, Mary Thurman's hair.

And like most great ideas, it was born of a trifle and an acci-
dent: i. e. — Mary got her hair wet!

She told me about it, touching each syllable in her funny,
careful way, precisely and delicately. Her speech has a peda-
gogic flavor.

" I went to the beach to swim one clay and I got my hair wet.
It was just bobbed then and I kept it curled all over. I was
terribly worried when I found I couldn't get it curled and had
to go out that way, with it hanging straight.

"When I came out, everybody piped up and said, 'Why,
Mary Thurman, why don't you always wear your hair that
way? It's so becoming and perfectly stunning.'

"I decided to try it. When I got home, I just took the
scissors and cut these bangs, trimmed it straight all around and
— here I am.

"Some people say it's great and some say it's terrible. But
it's a great comfort. And it is unusual, isn't it?"

I agreed. Whether it is too unusual to become a fashion, I
don't know. I looked about and saw only one other woman
in the crowd to whom I thought it would be becoming — a tall,
dark girl in sport clothes, with very fine eyes.

She is a strangely passive little person, Mary Thurman.
But as you look at her you think of the old adage "Still water
runs deep. "

Fate has played some strange tricks on Miss Thurman, of
Salt Lake City, — little Mary, the school teacher.

Yes, she was a school teacher. I beg your pardon? Oh,
but she was, a regular, honest to goodness school teacher. She
is a graduate of the University of Utah.

She married a college professor, too, when she was sixteen.
But — they had, as Mary shyly confided, about as much in
common as a rabbit and a boa constrictor. So they parted.
{Continued on page 93)

"First off. this
house o mine
wan t nothin
out a bungalow
settin on a hill.

"But by trie time
my wife got
through re-writ-
in' the thing, it
was an eight-
reel feature."

The House That Jokes Built

As described by
WILL ROGERS

Will Rogers is one of the few comic men who have really succeeded
in transferring a personal appeal from ears to eyes. Half a dozen,
even more famous, tried it and failed. Their mirth disappeared
with their voices. Yet Rogers not only found his humor again on
the screen, hut added a quality the footlights never saw- pathos.

PEAKIX' about houses," said Will Rogers —
(We weren't.)

" I got a pretty nice place now myself, out
in Beverly Hills, where all the prize winners
live."

"The House that Bill built," I murmured.

" Xope. I call it the House that Jokes Built,
'cause I done it with money I made off the
gags I used to pull at the Ziegfeld shows."

"Did you build the house yourself?" I
asked, as Bill paused apparently remember-
ing his red tights for the first time with some
embarrassment, "or did you buy it?"

"Well," said Bill, ducking his head with
that famous grin. " 'bout 50-50. Some-
body else had the idea, but my wife tore
up the script and wrote a whole doggone
new scenario."

He was perched on the end of a
wooden horse. He had no rope to twirl,
but he managed fairly well with the
cord of his silken doublet as a sub-
stitute. His red tights, worn with the
Romeo costume which he had donned
to make the " Romeo and Juliet " dream
scenes in his new production, distressed
him a bit.

But his conversation had the same
slow, unemphasized, biting drawl that
used to come over the footlights of the
Follies.

He looked down at the tights a moment
— then at me.

"Elinor Glyn ought t' see me now." he
said soberly, with a twinkle far back in his
blue eyes. "I heah she's lookin' for the
perfect man. If she got a real good look
at me in this harness, she wouldn't have to
waste no more time, I reckon."

He paused to enjoy this thought,
rambled en genially —

"We were speakin' about that house of mine.
It was this-a way. First off, 'twas nothin' but
a bungalow settin' on a hill. Not meanin' much
one way or 'tother. But by the time my wife

then

■wCt

got through re-writin' that thing, it was an eight-reel
feature production.

"What I told her was, the house oughta been made
of rubber in the first place. The way she went 'round
there, pushin' out this wall and then pushing out
another wall, 'til some nights I'd just as leave slept in
a good corral, was something scandalous to behold.

"My gracious, just yesterday when I
thought the whole thing was cut and
titled, I come home to find she's shoved
the whole end plum]) out of one end. No-
body but Alice in Wonderland could have
thought up so many funny things to do to
that house.

"It's been expensive, but gee I've got a
swell lot of laughs out of it.

"First of all, Mrs. Rogers 'ud take and

push a coupla walls out of the way, just

like a kid playin' with blocks. Then when

she'd got it down all right, she gets one of

these plush architects and he looks it over

and says, 'That's very nice indeed, Mrs.

Rogers, but the trouble is when you did

that you uncinched the girt round that

staircase, and now you've got to move the

staircase or it won't he no more good to

you than the White Sox Ball Club.' Or he'd

say, ' It was a wonderful idea to pull that wall

in, Mrs. Rogers, but I reckon now you'll have

to move the first line trenches out about fifteen

or twenty feet.'

"Architects an' diplomats must a ben cut out of

the same piece. They can get you into more trouble

than the army an' the carpenters can get you out of.

"Put a woman and an architect together and the

Big War'll look like an Iowa

State picnic.

"But I didn't mind. I says
to myself, let 'em go ahead
with the house. Houses is
women's business, anyway. A
man don't have much to do
with a house but eat and sleep
and pay for it. I ain't really
interested in anything hut the

"Elinor Glyn
ought to see me
in my Romeo
costume — I
heah she s look-
in' for the per-
fect man !

,1'

Photoplay Magazine

"I took the gold fish out of the pool in my front yard and sent
'em back to Tiffany s: gave the men S400 to remove a little
expectoratin statue, and built me a tan-bark ring — over to
the right, there — with a seven-foot brick wall around it.
Every Sunday we collect a right smart crowd o contest
hands, an I 11 bet you couldn t get em to work like they do
down there for a hundred bucks a day!

barns. Bungalows is all right, but barns is the important
things after all.

"But one mornin' I was standin' looking over the landscape
in the rear where I was figurin' on puttin! the horses and
barns. An' I see this little architect standin' there, too,
pullin' his six chin whiskers.

"Right there I rared up on my hind laigs.

"I says, 'Young fella, look here. I have been quite a
peaceable cuss for the past few months. I have stood for
considerable from you without any undue demonstrations.
But, my Gawd, you ain't goin' to tell me how to build a BARN
are you?' I says. 'You go an' play round with your Louise
Quince and your velvet saddle blankets. I don't mind a lot
of foolin' in the troop if folks can laugh at it.

" But I sure got ideas of my own on how these barns are
goin' to be built. You can make yourself right famous as far
as I'm concerned if you'll look and listen a lot.

"Well, then we was visited by another species that interested
me a heap. It was called a landscape artist. He was goin'
to fix my front yard up for me right swell, so the neighbors in
Beverly Hills would be pleased with it.

"I told him I hadn't give the neighbors any great amount
of thought, besides which I was goin' to put a seven foot brick
wall 'round it so the boys could come up Sunday mornings
and have a little Sabbathical fun ropin' goats and bulldoggin'
steers.

"He had a regular phonograph record he turned on me 'bout
'groupings' and 'spacings' and things of that calibre, so I
finally thought I'd see how he generally earned that salary he
mentioned so casual. There are times when I am not so
incensed against the Income Tax as others.

"So I come home from the studio one afternoon and on the
front lawn I see six or eight little bushes 'bout as big as a
respectable cabbage, settin' together in one corner. There was

Will Rogers
as he looked
during his
pre-movie
career with
Ziegfeld.

another deligation settin' in another and some scattered about
careless in the middle.

" 'Is them your groupings?' I asked him.

"He admitted it without reachin' for his gun.

"'Mister.' says I, 'will you get them insignificant lookin'
little onions out of my sight before I forget we are now at
peace — and get me some trees — some trees a regular man don't
need to be ashamed of.'

"It upset him some. He says, 'Mr. Rogers, you can't do
that. They won't grow, maybe, and in two years these
beautiful shrubs I've planted will be large and sightly.'

" 'The life of a motion picture star ain't two years,' I says
right back. 'You get some trees I can enjoy now — never mind
them scrubs you got. I want some cottonwoods and some
eucalyptus and things I'm acquainted with personally.'

"I went right down to the place with him, and I bought all
the biggest trees they had. You could conduct a real nice
hangin' in my front yard now.

"Then, too, he'd put a little fountain in the middle, one of
them statues that expectorates continuously. I ben in the
Follies and I am no Anthony Comstock, but I felt right sorry
for that little thing out there without even a bandana, playing
September Morn in December.

"It cost me S350 to get that fountain in and S400 to get it
out.

"I didn't grudge the four hundred a bit.

" I wouldn't a dared to ask any of my old friends into my
house with that thing settin' in the {Continued on page 94)

" We must tell Allen." ..." Tomorrow? " she whisper
"No! Now!" said Mark, as her husband entered the

ELIZABETH ERSKIXE dealt bravely and sweetly with
the years that followed her girlhood love disappointment
and far from embittering her life it had endowed her
with the added perfection of beauty that is made doubly
exquisite by its tinge of sadness. And her home, La Acacia,
nestled in a slope of the Californian mountains with its mel-
lowed walls of Spanish mission, rose arbored and perfumed of
the kindness of sunny days, seemed pervaded with the same
rare spirit as the mistress of that enchanted spot.

The home of Elizabeth came to have something of the
sympathetic mellowed gentleness and romance of the potpourri
in her rose jar, a token of the love that was and its immortality.

It chanced that into this magic setting came two men and a
girl. Most anything might have happened and many things
did. There came the high flush of love, a rivalry made keen by
its friendships and loyalty, hope, glamour, joy, tragedy and
despair.

"Aunt Betty" was the name by which they came to know
Elizabeth, who moved in beauty and soft gentleness among
the people of her world. And as "Aunt Betty" she was
especially endeared to the children whom she gladdened with
her hour of story reading at the town library. Many a hand-

The

LOST

ROMANCE

Lasky Corporation, All

Rights Reserved.

A tale that is told

of what the moon

saw in a love -lit

garden.

GENE

SHERIDAN

some spinster of like uncertain age
might have resented the appellation,
but Elizabeth was tender in wisdom.
Just when Sylvia Hayes, the assist-
ant librarian, starved of romance in
years of plain shirtwaists and in-
stitutional service, was sighing over
the emptiness of the vacation time
ahead, Aunt Betty came along with
an invitation to La Acacia.

So it came that there was a joyous
little house party at Aunt Betty's
home with Sylvia there for her fate-
•d. ful meeting with Allen Erskine, young

•oom! student surgeon, and nephew of their

hostess, and Mark Sheridan, sports-
man adventurer, a clean-lived friend
of Elizabeth's and filled with a platonic devotion.

In the beginning it is to be suspected there was just a bit of
resentment concealed under the polite consideration of the
two men when they found that a girl had been brought into
their easy chair pipe-smoking vacation at Aunt Betty's. But
even a concealed resentment is as good a beginning as any and
as futile as any against the simple charms of such as Sylvia.
More especially under the capable hands of Aunt Betty.

Allen and Mark began to take interest from the time when
Sylvia first came down to dinner in a rare Spanish shawl from
the treasures of Aunt Betty's keepsake chests. Perhaps, too,
there was not a little of the coquetry of old Granada in the
folds of that rich old fabric. Anyway there was a toast to the
beauty of Castile, which even simple Sylvia knew was a toast
to her.

That was the first of it. There came moonlit nights in
the garden by the mirroring pool and there were times when
Aunt Betty effaced herself with a smiling grace to let Romance
have its way.

But the real beginning was the night when Sylvia, retiring
early, came in fairest negligee to throw her window open for
the night and to look over the moonlit loveliness of the garden.

/^T"\OMANCE will be so
(_ tyf* long as the world

± \ shall last. The first
^ morning of Creation
wrote the first romance of
Man and Maid and it shall
he the world's greatest story
for the last dawn of Reckon-
ing to read. Romance is the
poetry of existence — it is
even existence itself. Life
without Romance would be
but the purposeless auto-
matism of body without soul.
And this supreme wealth of
Romance belongs to all who
will claim it. Romance knows
no caste or class, no race or
creed. It is the great universal
legacy. It is a gold that grows
by spending. It is the end of
the rainbow at your feet.
Romance visits alike the hum-
ble farmhouse on the hill and
the splendid villa by the sea,
city slum and mansion of
marble. Without it they are
one in nothing. It is given to
Woman to be the special
custodian of Romance, the
chalice of Man's ambition.
For Woman and for love of
Woman the World has been
conquered and its wealth laid
at her feet. Woman is the
mother of all men and the
world. The World lives for
Romance and Romance lives

to keep the World alive.

Allen, pacing moodily in the gar-
den, turned at the sound to see her
silhouetted in the latticed window.
Almost unconsciously he stepped for-
ward and called her name.

"Sylvia!" It was a half-hushed
exclamation. It was as magic. She
had been filling his thoughts for hours.
Here suddenly she appeared before
him more lovely than all his poetic
fancies.

The girl drew back, half frightened
and thrilled.

"Come out, Sylvia."

Peering from the protection of the
casement curtains Sylvia shook her
head.

"Oh, I can't." Her whisper was breathless with sentiment
and excitement at the glamour of it.

But she lingered and Allen stood fingering the lattice work
and murmuring nothings about the night.

Mark, smoking his evening pipe, stepped out under the rose
festooned archway and saw them there. Slowly he took a
farewell puff and knocked out his pipe, unconsciously. He
strolled with a leisurely tenseness toward the window.

"And I had always thought that Romeo was a fool." Allen
commented to Sylvia, looking up at her in the window.

"I never really knew what romance was until I came here."
Sylvia sighed. " I don't know how I will ever go back into the
world again."

Allen was as bashfully awkward as a boy. He thumbed at the
lattice and looked into Sylvia's eyes.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful," he said, "if we could live in
this romance forever?"

Sylvia started as she saw Mark nearing them,
turned and saw him too. Mark approached with a
manner of parental solicitude.

"It's high time for little boys and girls to go to bed."
Mark's voice was filled with a pretense of severity.

It isn t giving up th
it s knowing tne

; trip for your work I mind, sobbed Sylvia,
romance is dead — you stopped caring!

Allen
mock

Allen pretended an air of vast displeasure and turned his
back with as much as to say "Go 'way." Hut Mark defied him
by taking an easy posture against the wall by the window too.

"If this is romance, I'm in it, too."

Sylvia blushed and thrilled.

In the shadows across the patio Aunt Betty passed, book in
hand, on her way to her room. She smiled wisely and sadly
to herself as she saw the trio at the window, two men and a
girl. She knew better than they the meaning of it.

"I must go now." Sylvia smiled down at them both and
extended a hand to each of them through the window.

Then she drew back within and the curtains fell before her.
She ?tood there alone again, quivering with happiness. Her
eyes caught a glimpse of the roses on her dressing table.
Impulsively she seized them out of the vase, two roses on a
single stem. Going back to the window she parted the
curtains and tossed the flowers to her admirers.

Both Mark and Allen reached for the roses, neither willing
to relinquish them. The\ stood holding the roses between
them and their faces growing serious. Then Mark snuared
about sharply and spoke to Allen.

"Say, old chap, is this really important with you?"

I could not have gone through th

Allen nodded a confession.

Mark let go his holdon the roses and turned a halt step
away. Allen followed him.
"And you, Mark:"'
"Yes, old man."

! " said Sylv:a.

So it came that the two men understood each other They
stood together in silence for several minutes. At last Mark
nut- his hand on Allen's arm. - „

P "We aren't going to let anything come between us— are we?

"No "Allen spoke impulsively. Then he broke the spray

Photoplay Magazine

of roses in two in token of his words and handed a flower to
Mark.

"A fair field and no favor!"

And so it was agreed between them.

The days passed with much fair rivalry of wooing and
trembling happinesses for Sylvia. Here she had found romance
and joy enough in it to make amends for the dull, lonely years
that had gone before.

THEN came that evening which they will all long remember.
Sylvia was playing the piano softly to herself. Mark. Allen
and Aunt Betty were gathered before the little friendship
blaze in the great fireplace of La Acacia. Mark and Allen
tried to engage their in-
terest in a game of chess.
But Aunt Betty saw them
looking, first one and then
the other, across the room
at Sylvia. Their minds and
hearts were not in the game
before them.

None of this escaped the
observant eyes of Aunt
Betty. She too looked over
at Sylvia, the cause of the
new air of something tense
that had settled down into
La Acacia.

John, faithful old butler
and caretaker of the place
for Aunt Betty, entered with
an envelope. This was a
welcome interruption for
the situation.

"Here, boys, the pic-
tures." Aunt Betty tore
open the envelope and to-
gether they stood at a table
looking at the prints, laugh-
ing at the amateurish snap-
shots of each other. Then
they came to the picture of
Sylvia.

Mark and Allen reached
for it simultaneously. Then
each drew back his hand
guiltily as though to yield
to the other. Both straight-
ened and stiffened up just a ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
shade.

Aunt Betty looked from
one to the other. She stepped between them.

"Boys, I have noticed a change in both of you recently.
Something has happened between you. Tell me?"

Mark and Allen looked at each other and smiled sheepishly;
then looking away the eyes of both of them turned to Sylvia,
still playing at the piano and unconscious of the little tableau
at the table.

Aunt Betty, with a tiny nod of her head, whispered to them.

"Ah — I see — it is Sylvia."

Allen, the younger, the more impulsive, turned to Aunt
Betty swiftly.

"We're both in love with her — we've known this for days —
but we've played fair with each other — only which one of us
is to propose first.-"'

Mark colored with a meaning that was confession of his
share, too.

Aunt Betty stood perplexed and unhappy in her indecision.
Here was a situation in which even her tact and wisdom and
gentleness were taxed to the extremity. At last the solution
came to her.

"Why not let Sylvia decide? Let it be the one she addresses
first — after I call her."

"Yes." the boys agreed in unison, both eager and tense with
an excitement they could not conceal.

Aunt Betty stood with the pictures in her hand, waiting until
Sylvia had come to the end of the music she was playing.
The boys turned away, pretending occupation, as Aunt Betty-
called.

"Oh, Sylvia — here are the pictures!"

Sylvia arose from the piano and came quickly, eager with
interest in the snapshots.

The Lost Romance

NARRATED with permis-
sion from the scenario by
Olga Printzlau from the story
by Edward Knoblock. Photo-
play directed by William do
Mille, with this cast :

Rapidly she ran through the prints, laughing and comment-
ing in turn upon them, until she came to the picture of herself.
She threw back her head aiu\ lauglu-d with amusement, then
turned toward the boys, who were nervously watching her.

"Oh, Mark- isn't this one funny?" She held up the picture
of herself.

Mark gasped and tried to control himself into saying a
pleasant "Yes." He cast a helpless but triumphant look at
Allen. Sylvia fortunately was busy looking through the pictures.
Fate had decided.

Aunt Betty quietly beckoned to the downcast Allen and
presently Sylvia and Mark found themselves alone.

Sylvia stood dreamy -eyed and abstracted when Mark pro-
posed, pouring out the
hungry earnestness ol his
soul. Her silence bade him
hope. He reached to take
her hand. At the instant
his touch awoke her to the
meaning of the words he
had been saying and awoke
her too to the fact that she
did not love him.

"No— Mark — I can't."
Mark's countenance fell
into a blankness of pain and
disappointment.

"I am sorry, Mark." She

reached to touch his hand.

"Oh, it's all right Sylvia."

He answered as bravely as

he could.

They stood awkwardly
silent. At last Sylvia s] >< ike,
nodding her head to in-
dicate Aunt Betty and Allen
who had gone outside.

"I am going to tell them
good night."

Mark bowed an I stood
back as she passed him and
stepped out. There was
hopeless yearning in his
eyes.

Aunt Betty and Allen
were together under the
rose arches when Sy Ivia ap-
peared. Sylvia was visibly
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ disturbed, lookirg appre-
hensively back at the door-
way of the room she had
left. Aunt Betty read the situation as clearly as though she
had seen it all. Discreetly and ingenuously she withdrew,
leaving Allen and Sylvia alone in the moonlight.

They were silent together long and at last Allen sensed the
answer that had been given in the scene within. His heart
bounded. He took a new courage. Moving over close to
Sylvia he clutched her hand.

"Sylvia, I love you." His voice was a-tremble and he
choked with emotion. An instant later they were close in
embrace. Sylvia had found the fulfillment of her quest of
romance.

Within Aunt Betty came upon the disconsolate Mark, who
stood with the snapshot picture of Sylvia in his hand. He
turned to face her, unconscious of the picture and his telltale
expression.

The heart of Elizabeth Erskine went out to Mark and she
made a movement toward him, then drew back in self-restraint.
"Friend — love isn't always returned."

"Perhaps it's all for the best — someway." Mark nodded
sadly. "I have decided." he went on. "to undertake that
Amazon expedition after all."

Aunt Betty stilled a gasp. She must not let Mark sec that
his decision hurt her.

"May I take this with me?" Mark held up the picture of
Sylvia.

"No — Mark — don't do that — don't take the memory of her
with you into the wilderness to rob time of its power to heal
the pain."

"That is a danger I am willing to face." Mark'- jaw set
squarely.

{Continued on page 104)

Elizabeth Er shine

Fontaine La Rue
Mark Sheridan . . . .Jack Holt
Allen Erskine. . Conrad Nagel
Sylvia Hayes. . .Lois Wilson

Allen Erskine, Jr

Mickey Moore

FASHIONS THAT COME WITH THE FLOWERS,

THE little jacket of former years has come
back once more — but this season it is
made of white pique. Here is one of the
graceful developments of this garment that
is simple enough to be made at home. The
unusual sleeve is made by bringing the
material forward from the back and folding
it about the arm. Wool decorations, in tones
of red, green and dull blue, give an addi-
tional note of charm.

The Observations

Carolyn

Van Wyck

HERE is a suit that is dressy enough for
formal afternoon wear and still practical
enough for the street or for traveling. It is
fashioned of dark blue taffeta, but would be
equally good in linen or ratine. The grace of the
long line — an outstanding feature of this season
— is emphasized in the unusual manner in which
the jacket fastens.

YOU may "go near the water" as much as
you like when you wear a suit like this.
It is a "two-in-one" affair called Yvette,
fashioned of knitted jersey. Don't you like
the satin pockets — which, of course, are not
really pockets at all? The colors? Green
and black. Incidentally, Mary Garden says
that swimming is the best sort of exercise for
keeping the figure trim — and Mary Garden
knows.

Model from
cAsbury SMills

THE SUNSHINE, AND THE CALL OF THE SURF

WITH the wider silhouette appearing in frocks it is natural
that lingerie should turn to pleats. Chemises, gowns
and camisoles show this trimming in many forms. Em-
broidery, drawn work and fagotting are also important
features in summer lingerie. White silk undergarments
embroidered in black are replacing the black silk lingerie of
last season. There is a wide range of coloring now, as in
addition to the pastel tones the higher shades are being widely
featured. Coral, gray and the -Mrs. Harding blue are among
the novelty colors in lingerie, although flesh and white main-
tain their popularity. Here's a fascinating pajama suit of
shell pink crepe de chine. It's a French model, but the
summer girl with clever fingers may duplicate it for a tenth
ol the original cost.

Models from

Grande Maison

de Blanc.

IT is a tradition that each summer the lingerie frocks
grow lovelier, and there is ample reason for the saying.
One of the outstanding features of the summer collection
that Lucile Ltd. showed recently at the beautiful new-
establishment on Fifty-fourth Street was the lingerie
frocks — designed for wear at the dance, for morning use,
or to make vivid splashes of color on shady porches. This
gown, designed by Lucile for Louise Du Pre, shows the
lavish use of lace, in this instance lace medallions and
insertion being used to decorate sheer white batiste. The
distended hip line, transparent hem and sleeve cut in one
with the bodice of the gown are all prominent features of
the summer frock. The tunic is of embroidered net, and
the satin sash in tones of orchid and shell-pink.

' IE

Miss Van Wyck's answers to questions appear on page 86

THE lure of lovely shoes must not
tempt you to buy unsuitable ones.
For example, the woman whose ankles
are not so slender as she could wish
would be wise to wear the pretty
Colonial pumps shown here — the irreg-
ular line is the one least trying to the
ankle. On the other hand, the oxford
is the prettiest shoe for her whose
ankles are all that they should be.
Two-tone shoes are lovely if worn with
a gown of solid color, but they must not
accompany a gown of foulard or printed
material. The "sphere" of these lovely
embroidered slippers is limited to eve-
ning wear; please do not wear them on
the street.

CANTER-
BURY
PRUSSIA

And below, a scene from
"The Cabinet of Dr. Cali-
gari," the first futurist
photoplay. Both these con-
gealments of celluloid mo-
tion are excerpts from
recent German films, just
released in the United
States. The splendid
reproduction of the his-
toric English cathedral
at the left is one of the
architectural triumphs in
"Anne Boleyn," who, if
you're four hundred year?
old, you'll remember very
well as the second wife of
Henry VIII — handy with
the axe, but a great favorite
with the ladies. "Anne
Boleyn," a Famous Players
property, is released in
America under the title,
"Deception."

The scenery in "Dr. Caligari" reels and totters like the tumbling
minds whose mad processes built its ugly but fascinating plot.

Mother o' Mine

The story of Charlie Chaplin's reunion with his mother

By
JOAN JORDAN

IN the wide, bay window of a charming house on a hill in
Hollywood, sits a little, gray-haired woman, with delicate
old hands folded upon the open pages of her Bible.

Every day, just as the sun is setting behind the waving
line of hills, a big. expensive motor draws up before the door.

A slender young man. in blue, jumps out and runs lightly up
the broad, white steps.

A white-capped maid opens the heavy door.

Often the little gray-haired woman rises from her seat in the
window and takes a few faltering steps to meet the man in the
doorway of her drawing-room. Almost always, now ....

On the evenings when she does not, he slips quietly in and
sits down beside her in the window, holding her hand in his

Because then he knows that her gentle mind has strangely
slipped back to the horrors of a Zeppelin raid, to the shock of
bursting shells and crashing build-
ings, death screams and imminent
destruction.

And she does not even know he
is there!

But either way — Charlie Chaplin
and his mot he- are together again.

Together alter nine years of
separation — years ot war and heart-
ache for the mother, of triumph
not unmixed with tragedy for the
son. Years that have been filled
with unimagined, unequaled suc-
cess and unforseen, stupendous
catastrophe for them both, but
that have altered not one jot the
great love they bear each other.

"It's wonderful to have my
mother again," is all Charlie Chap-
lin says.

Just the simple story of most
mothers and sons, only a bit more
dramatic, the story of Charlie
Chaplin and his mother, a story as
commonplace as life and death, and
joy and pain.

Xine years ago ait unknown
young vaudeville performer named Charlie Chaplin, kissed his
erect, smiling little mother an excited good-by in a London
railway station. He was going to America to seek his fortune.

A few weeks ago, Charlie Chaplin, the world's greatest
comedian, the most famous male genius the screen has yet
produced, stood on a station platform in Los Angeles, and with
tears running down his cheeks, took into his arms a little gray
figure, bent, and puzzled, and oh, so changed.

That is the heart of the story.

IT was seven years ago that Charlie Chaplin, just beginning
the movie career that led him to what I personally con-
sider the screen's greatest performance ("The Kid") began
the long struggle to bring his mother to America.

But England was at war. And war, among other horrors,
produced yards of regulations and red tape. Even Americans
had difficulty in returning to their own country. Mrs.
Chaplin, a British subject, would not be permitted to leave
England for America.

So she stayed on in London, until one frightful night when a
London air raid crumpled the world about her frightened head.
A shell, bursting within a few feet of her, rendered her un-
conscious.

Again Chaplin actively renewed his efforts to bring her to him.

Again he failed. His mother's health, as well as some new
rules concerning war stricken patients, would not permit it.

Months then, for her, in a sanitarium where large monthly
checks with the scrawling signature "Charlie Chaplin" brought
her every care and comfort; months of red tape and prepara-
tion; at last the long journey across the Atlantic with her
famous son's secretary and a trained nurse sent over by the
screen star to bring her to him.

Long weeks of weary waiting while Mr. Chaplin made
arrangements with the immigration authorities, who, because
of the shell shock Mrs. Chaplin had suffered, could not admit
her to the United States without certain precautions and
assurances.

All those things are but steps leading to the accomplishment
of the dearest wish of Charlie Chaplin's heart.

Charlie Chaplin has brought so
much sunshine into other lives.
He has made so many of us laugh
and forget our heartaches. He has
showered upon us the priceless
gifts of smiles and laughter. In
darkened theaters all over the
earth, he has filled hearts with a
song, smoothed away grief and
cares and pain.

And I think the world, that has
known the story of that tin}- grave
out in Hollywood — the world that
has whispered and laughed and
frowned over the wreck of his mar-
riage— I think the world when next
it sees him on the screen will rejoice
because he has his mother again.
I think we will be just a little more
grateful, just a little more appreci-
ative of his gifts.

l"T why, for this man. must the
laughter always hold a tear?
Why is there always .1 bitter drop
in his cup.J

For above the joy of his reunion
with his mother hovers the white, faintly menacing cloud of
her affliction. He has his mother again — and yet she is not
wholly his.

But he is very hopeful. California is a wonderful place. It
is very far from London and the things that happened to her
there.

Already in her beautiful home in the foothills, with her
competent staff of servants to relieve her of every step and
every worry, with her luxurious limousine and its chauffeur
to take her on long, exquisite drives through the mountains
and beside the sea, she is losing the actuality of the war. It
is a bad dream only.

Already the lapses of memory and of mind are growing less
frequent.

With tears in his eyes, her son told me that the second
night she was here she went to the piano and sang, in her sweet,
faint voice, several songs from "Patience."

Because you see, little Mrs. Hannah Chaplin — she is just
fifty-five now — whom we can think of only as the mother of
Charlie, was once a personage herself.

Many years ago, London knew her as Florence Harley, a
prima donna of the Gilbert and Sullivan Opera Company, in
the days of its greatest popularity. Florence Harley, a slender
girl with a lovely voice and a winning (Continued on page 95)

Allisonia gets the cool
sweep of the Pacific winds
through the cloudless
California summer, and in
the Octoberish California
winter it seems to nestle
under warm and protecting
hills. Its designer, owner,
mistress, queen and chief
ornament, may be seen
in the center of the view,
casting the only shadow
that darkens her fair
green lawn.

The drawing-room may be Bostonese as; a
bean, but this dazzleden is as typical of Cal-
ifornia as a cactus. Wicker, enamelled gray,
and bright old English chintzes keep a little
of the sun locked up for cloudy days.

Superficially it appears
that Miss Allison is writ-
ing a letter. In reality
there s no ink in the pen,
and that chunk of hand-
somely monogrammea
stationery hasn t been
hurt a bit.

Everything in the Chinese
room — porcelain, jade,
bronze or teak — repre-
sents the actress' personal
additions to a collection
she has been making
through half a dozen
years.

"On Your Left, the

Home of

May Allison !"

THAT is a new cry from the conning towers
of the observation 'buses as they speed
through the Beverly Hills district of Los
Angeles, a hill-and-vale paradise already gemmed
with more palaces than may be found in any area
of similar dimensions on earth. It required three
centuries to give acting the dignity of a profes-
sion, but it needed less than a decade, in pictorial
Southern California, to make a race of home-
building as well as home-loving players who in
the sumptuousness and comfort of their dwellings
lead the world.

The rectangular object before the davenport at the
left, outlined and tasseled in gold, pretends that it is
a foot-cushion, but a good way to be sure of never
getting another invitation to Casa Allison would be to
put just one foot on it tor two seconds.

Lift your eyes, and they 11
rest on the principal scene
in any Al Woods play. As
you can see, it s a solo
couch ; as you can t see,
the tone of the wood is
old ivory, and the hang-
ings are of delicate blue
taffeta, festooned with
clusters of pink and gold
ribbon-roses.

At the left, something of
the East — no, we don't
mean tom-toms and tea,
cymbals and sirens — we
mean Boston, Mass.. with
a severe gray velvet car-
pet; heavy unngured satin
hangings and satin-
covered furniture classic-
ally setting off the bro-
caded walls.

A Contest Fiction Story

The PROPER
ABANDON

What Happened to a Big Little Boy

in a Park Jungle,

Ruled Over by a Tyrant in White Muslin

By
BARKER SHELTON

Illustrated by
SMay Wilson Preston

IT is six hundred and fifty-odd miles, as the crow flies, from
the Chintacooset River to a certain tall office building on
the edge of the financial district which houses more legal
talent to the square foot than any other office building in
the world. Therefore, any man who stands before the office
building in question when he should be listening to the babble
of the Chintacooset is at least six hundred and fifty-odd miles
off his course.

It is perfectly logical for anyone who is off his course by such
a marked variance to be nervous, bewildered, ill at ease. Peter
Judkins, disembarking from a taxi before the building men-
tioned and lifting out a black bag with a leather case of fishing-
rods strapped on top of it, was all these things. And for good
measure he was chagrined and somewhat crestfallen.

At the moment Peter Judkins stepped to the curb he was
aware the impression prevailed strongly in certain quarters
that he was casting flies on the Chintacooset and was very
happy in such occupation. It wasn't going to be exactly
pleasant showing up that prevailing impression as erroneous.

He watched the taxi begin its dodging recessional. For a
moment he found himself wishing he was in it. Better, per-
haps, to beat a panicky retreat than to enter that building and
face what he knew awaited him upstairs if he showed his face
there. The taxi lurched around a corner and out of the range
of his troubled vision. He picked up the black bag with rod-
case strapped to it. The taxi was gone. Besides, it might be
well just now to stick to any decision he was able to make, even
if it were the wrong decision. He entered the building and
squeezed himself and the bag into a corner of a crowded express
elevator that was about to start its upward shoot for floors
above the sixteenth.

At the eighteenth floor stop he squeezed his way out. He
went down a short corridor to his right and a longer corridor to
his left. His objective was a most excellent example of the
doormaker's art, numbered 1827. But, when he reached it, a
great irresolution seemed to engulf him. Instead of opening
the door and walking in briskly, firmly, cheerfully, as he had
fully intended to do, he stood staring at it and rubbing his
cheek doubtfully with the hand that was not burdened with
the black bag.

Below the number on the ground-glass panel of that door was
the simple information for such as it might interest:

BROXSON & JUDKINS

ATTORNEYS- AT-LAW

And beneath this brief legend, slightly to the left, was a list of
names in the neatest of small, black letters. Heading this
imposing column was the name of Gilman S. Bronson; the
second was that of Peter F. Judkins. Trailing these were ten
other names, any one of which carried much weight in the world
of jurisprudence.

"I am wondering if you happen to have room

The sound of clicking typewriters, busy with briefs and
appeals and summonses and correspondence and what-not,
drifted out to the most brilliant member of the firm, standing
there in the hall and having a beautiful debate with himself as
to whether or not he should turn the knob and walk in.

It struck him as mighty peculiar that a man should expe-
rience any such reluctance about entering his own office. If he
couldn't go in there without all this mental disturbance about
it, where in the name of all that was reasonable could he go?
He was not casting flies on the waters of that troubled little
brook that had the nerve to call itself the Chintacooset River.
He was here; at the offices of the firm of which he was a neces-
sarv member. And that was all there was to it. Wherefore, he

in your class for another member," said Peter.

would go in; just as he had planned during all the journey back
here to go in; boldly and breezily, with a great show of deter-
mination upon his face, even if such determination was not in
his heart.

He put his hand on the knob, and as promptly took it off
again. For it occurred to him suddenly that he simply could
not enter by that particular door; could not stalk into the main
office in front of the whole surprised, head-shaking, disapprov-
ing bunch. That required a trifle more nonchalance than he
felt capable of summoning up at the moment.

So he moved down the corridor to another door. It bore the
numerals 1831, and nothing else. There was nothing upon it
to announce to the public that it opened into his own private

office. He was hoping, as he fumbled for his key-, dial the
other door of that room he was about to enter — the door into
the main office — would be shut. .It would be most satisfying to
have a few moments alone in which to get a better grip on
himself before he made known his presence there.

But that other door — worse luck to it! — was wide open, and
consequently young Mr. Kendall, who looked after wills
whether they were the kind to be drawn up. or the sort dis-
gruntled relatives were trying to break, saw him. Also middle-
aged Mr. Hartridge, whose forte was deeds and titles and
mortgages and leaseholds, saw him. And both young Mr.
Kendall and middle-aged Mr. Hartridge promptly got up from
their respective desks and came into the private office and

Photoplay Magazine

wrung his hand; and hoped he had found the fishing at Chinta-
cooset all he had expected; and inquired if he wasn't back
rather earlier than he had planned. Then several others came
in and went through the same distressing performance; and
finally a sudden hush fell upon the chatter, for there in the door-
way stood Oilman Bronson, favoring Peter Judkins with one of
those cold, accusing glares, which only a combination of Gil
Bronson's now-tell-me-the-truth eyes and a pair of oversize
shell spectacles in front of them could accomplish.

The appearance of the head of the firm upon the threshold
seemed to sound a no-uncertain signal for a general retreat.
The others withdrew. Bronson closed the door that led into the
main office. He closed it in the way he always closed doors
when there was anything in the wind that besought his approval
and besought it vainly.

"What in the devil are
you doing back here, any-
way, Peter?" he inquired.
It was very much as if
another door had slammed.

"Oh, I just came back,"
said Peter. The farthest
thing from his intention was
to say anything so inane.
Indeed, he had rehearsed
this little interview with
the senior member of the
firm. He had meant to be
very firm with Gil Bronson
duringit. Instead, hefound
his attitude one of weak and
maundering conciliation.

"What are you back here
for?" Bronson snapped.

"Work," said Peter in the
same flat tone, which was
about as much like Peter
Judkins' normal tone as the
apologetic figure slumped
on one corner of the desk
was like the normal, de-
cided, sure-of-himself Peter
Judkins.

Bronson merely scruti-
nized the other man's face.
Those shell spectacles
seemed to Peter to be grow-
ing larger.

"I feel I want to get to
work again," Peter tried to
defend his unwelcome ap-
pearance on the scene.
"Nothing else will satisfy
me. I'm really eager for
work. Hungry for it. And
I'm quite fit and readv to
work."

"No you aren't. Not by a darned sight," his partner took
issue with him. "If anything, you look worse than you did
when you were here early last week. Two months away from
here; eight solid weeks of play for you ! Those were the orders,
weren't they?"

Peter nodded, but seemed on the point of offering excellent
reasons why the orders could not be carried out. But he didn't
get the chance to speak. Bronson shook a forefinger at him in
the same way that made that shaken forefinger so effective
with twelve good men and true in a jury-box.

"Three weeks only of those eight have gone, yet how many
times have I already shooed you away from here?" he said be-
tween set teeth.

"Why, two that I remember. Maybe it was three." -aid
Peter.

"Four already," Bronson corrected the statement. "This
makes the fifth. Just what was the matter with the Chinta-
cooset country and the fishing up there?"

"I didn't care for the country, and fishing doesn't appeal to
me," Peter explained, as if he were afraid the explanation was
the wrong one.

Judging from Bronson's general disgust, it was.

"Are you human?" he asked Peter.

"I don't know," Peter brightened perceptibly. He leaned
farther forward on his perch on the desk corner. "That thought

How one feels on going into a movie
theater from trie bright sunlight.

has occurred to me, too. Gil. And perhaps it's the answer.
Possibly, you know. I've become a machine that must turn out
so much work per given interval to be happy. Maybe there's a
big mistake at the bottom of all this. Maybe my work is my
play, after all."

"There's a big mistake, all right," said Bronson grimly.
"The mistake lies in allowing yourself to consider any such fool
thought for even the fraction of a minute."

He stepped forward with a certain air of well-here's-where-
I-have-to-do-it-once-again about him. He opened the door
into the corridor. He picked up the black bag. Then he
turned to the desk; his arm slid beneath Peter's; he hauled the
younger man off the desk-corner. The line of march was along
the two corridors Peter had just traversed, in the general direc-
tion of the elevators, Bronson grunting a running fire of com-
ment during their progress
thither.

"You go, and you see to
it that you stay gone this
time until your eight weeks
are up. Everything is go-
ing smoothly. Not an ex-
cuse for you to be hanging
around. You show up here
just about once more before
the time's up, and I believe
I'll seriously consider assas-
sinating you."

"Look here, Gil, hold on
a minute!" Peter protested.
"Give me credit for doing
my best. Everybody yowls
at me to drop work and go
away and play. I listen to
'em and take their advice
and do my durnedest. But
it doesn't work out. The
trouble is I don't seem to
know how to play."

"Learn then," Bronson
exploded. "You've tried
four or five things only, and
none of them happened to
hit your fancy. Don't be a
silly quitter, Peter. Keep
at it. Presently you'll bump
into something that does
suit you. There are plenty
of other things left that you
haven't tried."

"But what in time and
thunder is the sense of rack-
ing your brain so hard to
try to find something you

I won't like when you do have

a fling at it — "

"Down !" bawled Bronson
at an elevator that was shooting past the eighteenth floor as
they turned into the shorter corridor.

The car brought up jerkily and came creeping back. Peter,
striving to voice further protests, was bundled in unceremo-
niously. With as little ceremony the black bag with its top-
freight of fishing-rod case was chucked in after him.

"And don't let me clap eyes on you again for at least five
weeks, mind," Bronson stipulated as the car resumed its down-
ward journey.

A few minutes later Peter Judkins found himself trudging
dejectedly along the sunny side of a very hot and very noisy
street. He knew where he wasn't going, and that was back to
the Chintacooset country. Neither would he try golf again,
nor a cruise along the coast in a motor-boat that either tried
to stand on end or roll oxer like a playful kitten every time the
sea got a little restless. As for wallowing across slimy marsh
lands and blazing away at the few diminutive birds the law-
allowed him to shoot at that season of the year, he'd had quite
enough of that, thank you. But if he did not propose to have
another crack at any of these diversions and yet felt it advis-
able to play at something for the remainder of those stipulated
eight weeks, he must needs dig up something new, and digging
up something new required mental effort, and mental effort
tired him altogether too much for a man no older than was he.
It seemed to be growing hotter every {Continued on page 64)

WEST is EAST

A Few Impressions
By DELIGHT EVANS

"He wenf to meet the Pres-
ident— one might call it the
chance of a lifetime!

1HAD My Opinion
Of Douglas McLean.
He Broke an Appointment
With Me.

Mr. Douglas McLean's
Press-agent and
Mr. Douglas McLean's
Wife

Both Said that he
Would be Very Glad
To Meet Me; in
Fact, that he

Had been Looking Forward to It.
I Took their Word for It.
You Can Imagine
How I Felt — wearing
A Xew Hat and All.
And Instead —
He Sent his Wife.
I Really

Shouldn't Complain.
She is Awfully Pretty, and
Sweet, and

She isn't in pictures or
Anything; but
She Said,
" I Know
That Douglas
Was Sorry
To Break

His Appointment with You."
'Well,'' I Wondered,
"Why did he, then?"
"But, " continued
Mrs. McLean, "he
Had to Go.
You

Can Imagine
How it was.
And

Really, it
Doesn't Happen
Very Often — one
Might Almost Call it
The Chance of a
Lifetime.

That's Why
He Went."
"Would you Mind,"
I Asked her,
"Telling Me
Just what you
Are Talking About?
What

Has Happened
To Your Husband?
Is it

Anything Serious?"
"Why, " laughed
Mrs. McLean,
"I Thought
They Told You !
He

Went to Meet
The President !
When

We Came East,
Douglas Said:
'There's Just One Thing
I Want to Do
More than Anything.
I Want
To Meet
The President.'
And so —
Of Course he
Voted for
Mr. Harding and
All —

Someone who
Knew Someone
Made an

Appointment; and
Douglas Went to i

Washington and
Waited" —
"Ah!"

"And Waited. And then
The Appointment
Was Put Off
Until Tomorrow."
I Always Said
The President
Was a Darn Good
Film Star.

"Douglas Will Just Have Time
To Catch the Train
For California. I'm
So Sorry, too, because
Doris May

Is Coming to Xew York and
We Would Like
To Stay Longer. "
Those Stories that
The McLean-Max-
Film Divorce
Was Caused by
Actual Incompatibility
Weren't True at all.
The McLeans and
Miss May

Are Yerv Good Friends.
Well— '
The President
Met him, anyway!

She didn't wear a red hat —
it was green. (She s Irish!)

COLLEEN MOORE said
She would Wear
A Red Hat. I Watched
The Red Hats Go By.
I Counted

At Least Twenty-six when
I Saw Colleen — and
She Wasn't Wearing a
Red Hat at all.
It was Green.
She is Irish.

You Can't Help liking her.
She's So Young that
She Wants to Play
Old Ladies, but
Mr. Neilan
Won't Let her.
She Likes
Ripe Olives,
Director Mickey,
Adela Rogers St. Johns,
Riverside Drive, and
John Barrvmore.
But

She Loves California, and
She Wants to Go Back.
They all Do — someone
Should Write a Song about It.
Colleen is Playing opposite
John Barrvmore Now — and Now
Her Uncle is Going
To Print her Picture
In his Paper. He is
A Newspaper Editor, but
He Always Said to her,
"You'll Never Get your Name
In my Paper until you Really
Make Good."
Colleen Has.

And she'll Keep Right On—
She's Just that Kind of a Kid.

56
Mil

I AM writing this in jail.
De profundis!
If I were a futurist artist, I could paint a magnificent can-
vas conception of these days in my cell.

I should call it "Thoughts on Being Incarcerated in a Damp,
Dark Dungeon." It would consist of red triangles sitting
sideways, green serpents standing on their tails, and bunches
of purple petunias tied with orange ribbons. But crook pic-
tures aren't so good just now, so maybe all is for the best.

Ten days ago — though never an ingenue even in my cradle —
I was yet a young and innocent girl, untouched by the dark
and seamy side of life.

Today — they have made of me a crook and a jail-bird — a
member of the underworld. They have taken away my name
and given me a number. They led me up the cold stone steps —
the great, steel door clanged behind me. Think of it! Grand-
mamma's little Bebe in the Bastile.

■To-night as I sit in my cell, the tears come to my eyes as I
think of my dear family, of my mother, my grandmother, my
aunts and uncles and
cousins. Since many
of them are not
equipped with the
shock absorber of a
sense of humor, the
blow to their family
pride is beyond de-
scription.

This is the way
Bebe looked
v. hen she finally
slowed down in
her Stutz and
they got her.

The capture, trial and imprisonment
of a beautiful star.

Gee, it's quiet in this jail. Even the drug addict in the next
cell has ceased raving and gone to sleep. And the matron
won't let me play my phonograph at night.

You know the crime for which I am locked within these
narrow walls for which I was tried. How strange that I should
have been brought to trial on the day after Easter when, all
my friends having sent me Easter lilies, I was rilled with sweet
thoughts of purity. You know, perhaps, those details of my
trial, of my sentence, my imprisonment which have been given
to the world. You have read of my offense, that terrible 20th
Century crime of speeding.

But now for the first time I am about to bare my soul to the
world that if it must judge me it may judge me as I really

am. I am going to write
down here the inner thoughts
that fill my heart, as I sit on
the nice white ivory chair the
townspeople so kindly donat-
ed to make my cell more
habitable.

I feel it but justice to my-
self that the world which has
heard so much of this pain-
ful story should hear my own
version. It seems but fitting
for me, following the prece-
dcntset by other famous crim-
inals, to tell you something
of my youth, of my dear
mother at whose knee I re-
ceived a gentle and uplifting
education. As I look back
and think of my dear home,
of the happy innocent days
of my childhood — and then
remember the voice of that
judge, stern and impressive
lit spite of a Santa Ana ac-
cent, committing me to this
jail I now inhabit, I can hard-
ly realize it is I who am thus
accused, accused, nay con-
victed of this thing. I think
it must be a masquerade, a
nightmare, from which I shall
soon awaken to find myself
not confined within this nar-
row prison walls, but safe,
happy, laughing as I used to
be before. . . .

Ah, how little the world
recks the struggle of a wom-
an's soul. How easy to say
I was caught, tried by a jury
of my peers, found guilty and
imprisoned. Of the things

Per

Hour

Written exclusively for Photoplay Magazine
by the defendant,

Bebe Daniels

(Convict 711)

that led up to this dark
event, of the price I paid
for my mistake, no one
can ever know.

For though the Per-
sian rug beneath my feet
may hide the cold stones
of the prison walls,
though the scent of
flowers may drown the
prison stench, though
the white iron cot be
replaced by a bed of
ivory and rose, nothing
can melt away the bars
that stand between me
and freedom. I am a
convict! I am not free!

And no words can give
you the real picture of
that wild, mad chase
while this man pursued
me as relentlessly as
though I had been Lil-
lian Gish herself — of the
moment when at last
by guile he trapped me
and brought me to my
fate.

Like the devastating
effects of a bullet that
does not register its
havoc for several mo-
ments, my brain refused
to take in the horror
even when he finally had
me in his clutches and
had told me all — all.

"Hey you," he said,
speedway, lady, it's a public highway
an hour, that was all."

Can you imagine with what feelings I glanced at my speedometer, now
peacefully resting at zero? My poor mother, springing like a tigress in defense
of her young, cried out at this, only to be silenced instantly. Pulling off
his cap he showed her a bump on his head the size of a young watermelon
and yelped. "Listen, lady, that's what I get chasrng birds like you. This
girl ought to be in jail. I shouldn't wonder if sooner or later, she was.
You're in Orange County, you know."

I did not know. Orange County — how little it meant to me then, in
spite of his sinister tones. Orange County — it suggested charming vistas,
delicious odors, melting morsels. How could I, then so young, so inex-
perienced in the ways of the world and the twisted paths of legal procedure,
know that Orange County is famous not for its oranges nor for its rural
beauties, but for one Judge Cox. Judge Cox, a man who had openly de-
clared for jail sentences for drivers caught going over 50 miles an hour in
his county, who had indeed gone on record that he would send anybody,

be he rich or poor, young or old, male or female, to jail for ten
days who broke the speed laws on his boulevards.

I was not to be left long in my blissful ignorance. I know
more about Judge Cox now than his mother-in-law. On top
of my victrola now is a huge bunch of American Beauties he
sent me. Aren't men queer.

Dear readers, even now I cannot think of the harrowing
weeks that followed my arrest. I spent the hours when I was
not working, sleeping, eating or going to parties,
brooding over my sorrow and dwelling in sober
thought upon the strange pass to which fate has
brought me.

So let us come instead to

the moment of my trial and
tell briefly of the day when I
walked down the aisle of a
crowded courtroom — was it
only ten days ago? It seems

Taking a good look at the
Orange County Jail, Santa
Ana, where she spent ten
days. Wicked looking
place, don t you think?
Neither do we.

'what'd you think you're doing? This ain't a
You was just hitting 56}4 miles

judge Cox is a good old judge.
His roses are lovely !

Swear? Thank you, but I don't
use the language.

"ThatDistrict Attorney's wife needn't
look so anxious. He s perfectly safe !

"Look at the crowd! Well, I
certainly am drawing well!

centuries. For after all, time is a matter of the
emotions.

Anyway, I certainly drew well in Santa Ana.

When my limousine drew up to the curb of the
courthouse and the chauffeur threw open the door,
my path was barred by so many people I decided
they must have declared a holiday and closed all
I he stores. They had all come to look at me, and
as I made my way through them I felt like Clara
Hamon entering the little courthouse at Ardmore
where her life hung at stake. Gosh, a lot of those
farmers didn't know the difference.

It was a small, old-fashioned courtroom. As
I made my way to the prisoner's dock, I had a
fleeting impression of the sea of faces, men and
women crushed and jammed into the smallest
possible space, standing on chairs, hanging on
window sills, sitting two in a seat, filling the aisles.
Some friendly, some narrowly hostile.

Now I know exactly how the rhinoceros feels
in the Zoo.

A joke's a joke. There have been plenty of
laughs about all this experience of mine, but none
who has ever been through that ordeal, sitting
on a witness stand, watching each juryman take
his seat in the jury box, standing to be sentenced,
entering the doors that are locked not to be opened
again, can imagine what I went through. I don't
care whether it was speeding or shop-lifting when
I heard them read that about "The People of the
State of California against Bebe Daniels." I felt
like Vesuvius had erupted right under my seat.
I should think that people who have to get tried
for things often, like pickpockets and bigamists
would be nervous wrecks.

Whatever my sins, I have paid, and paid, and
paid.

I am still paying. All the world lies just beyond
the bars of my window and I cannot go to it. Out-
side a nightingale — or maybe it's a mocking bird —
is singing. But even his song is cracked by the
steel that binds me within. Between the bars, I
can see a bright little star that twinkles — just a
star in a patch of blue. But it seems so far away.
So far away.

Besides, I've eaten too many peanuts and too
much candy today.

The trial alternately dragged and rushed ahead.

While they were going into the details of my
shame. I took a good look at the judge — my first.
A little, cocky man, with a face not unlike "Mr.
Jiggs" in "Bringing Up Father." I sort of liked
him, even then. His weather-beaten, belligerent
old face, with its top knot of upstanding red hair,
and the snappy blue eyes behind gold rimmed
spectacles which he looked over, under or through
impartially, made me think he might be a nice
man on a party.

(He is. He comes to see me every day, in my
dungeon. I think he — but perhaps a prisoner
should not tell what the judge says to her in
private.)

He didn't look at me once, though, during that
day. I wonder why. Of course he had his honor
to uphold. Still, if he had — but I am not wasting
my time on vain regrets. My soul holds not one
drop of revenge, not one ounce of bitterness. He's
a good old judge, and his roses are lovely, but he
sent me to his funny old jail for these ten days, —
ten days out of the very heart of my life, ten days
of usefulness, and sunshine that can never be
replaced. I don't blame him — much. But I'll bet
lie's going to miss me when I go away.

How I got to the witness stand to tell my story
I will never know. And I worried all the time I
was there for fear my lips weren't on straight.

Motorcycle Officer Myers had testified that
from his position behind a windmill — what do
you think of a guy that'll hide behind a windmill
and lay traps for poor, unsuspecting girls? — he had
seen me go through what he called "the trap" at
56^2 miles an hour. Well, {Continued on page 109)

Now that I've told my sad
story, are my lips on sfraight?"

Fifty-six and one-half isn't
fast. Look at de Palma!

'Ten Days !

CLOSE-UPS

odiiorial Expression and Timely Comment

" \'\7'7HITE LISTS" appear now and then, none
\X/ of them are perfect, but some are better
than others. An influential church body in
Los Angeles has recently issued one in which the names
of Douglas Fairbanks, Mary Pickford and Charlie
Chaplin are not to be found. But somehow Mr. and
Mrs. Fairbanks and the inimitable creator of "The
Kid" are going right along.

SPEAKING of "The Kid," of course, brings to mind
that wonderful little boy, Jackie Coogan. lie nearly
died of pneumonia recently at the Hotel Biltmore, in
New York. The papers said
that he contracted a cold
while "leading the orchestra" in
the little overalls in which he
stamped sturdily through the
Chaplin film. It is also said
that his parents refused a very
fair vaudeville offer on the
ground that they could make
more money exploiting him as
an independent attraction. But
if he were our little boy he
would be learning his little les-
sons in a quiet home, playing in
the sunshine and the dirt, eating
his bread-and-milk and going to
bed at dark. It is quit; all
right for Jackie to make his
pictures — if his life is properly
and rigorously regulated outside
the studio. But if Jackie's
wonder-talent is to grow into a
greater talent bye and bye it
will be because he has what
should be the privilege of every
little boy who comes into the
world — a normal, irresponsible
childhood.

PICTUREDOM is all in a
lather about what some call
"the German invasion." To
hear the scared ones talk you'd
think an unlimited fount of Ger-
man masterpieces was on tap,
and for little or nothing in the
way of money. There are those
who'll tell you that during all
the years of the war interior Ger-
many just seethed with picture
activity, and the accumulated
product now being let loose upon
the Allies — heaved especially at
the devoted shoulders of your
Uncle Samuel — is a sort of optic
poison gas with which they hope
to stealthily continue the con-
flict. They're the cousins and the aunts of the people
who asseverate that "Passion" and "Deception"
were really made to prove the innate wickedness of
France and England.

HERE'S a real censor. Timothy
J. Hurley of Chicago, pictured

icago, picture'
bove, has always been zealous in
the causes of compulsory righteous-
ness, and never more so than when
he proposed regulating the lake
city s movies by a commission of
three infallibles — at salaries or
$5000 a year apiece. In spite of
his clerical garb Mr. Hurley is not
a preacher, but a lawyer.

LABOR generally is against heavy German importa-
tions on the ground that it encourages the low wages
of the continent by showing a preference for low-cosl
big pictures. The Actors' Equity Association is against
the Germans because in an already overcrowded
market these pictures will mean, they say, still further
layoffs lor American players, and still further reduction
of the native output. The American Legion has been
persuaded to enter the combat on the grounds of
patriotism. Various "remedies" are being advised,
from a boycott to a tariff wall so high that the Prus-
sians and the Bavarians can't climb over it.

ADOLPH ZUKOR, just be-
tore sailing for Europe, re-
marked to the writer: "This
'German invasion' fright is the
oldest and silliest of alarms. One
would think that the Germans
had some magical recipe for
making great pictures. As a
matter of fact, among all the
German pictures there are no
more great ones than there are
in any given number of American
films. A European might just as
sensibly, after seeing 'The Birth
of a Nation,' 'The Miracle Man,'
and 'The Four Horsemen' fall
into a panic of belief that every
American film was of equal
calibre."

AS a matter of fact, certain
well-known American films
have beaten the world in their
marvellous reproduction of great
days gone. The greatest his-
torical work ever filmed, in point
of combined story interest and
archaeological accuracy, was .A I r.
Griffith's "Intolerance." Even
Mr. Fox, who cares little for
history, did it as well as any
German in his unforgettable
"Tale of Two Cities."

THROTTLING competition
in the arts has never been

successful, because it is funda-
mentally wrong. America,
thanks to its start in the war,
now supplies eighty percent of
the world's motion pictures. In
Germany, according to William
A. Brack's account, there i.- an
embargo which prohibits all but
about two percent of our film
products. There is one sensible
objection — the only barrier upon which we can make
jusl conditions of exclusion. We should have free
exchange and a fair field— or else a tariff high enough to
keep out anything but the genuine mastervvork.

TT is a humiliating thing to confess that we are fright-
*■ ened by a film menace from any nation. The motion
picture is our art, and fright oxer rivalry seems like a
confession that we have been beaten on our own ground.

THE Xew York Morning Telegraph suggests that the
public be allowed to choose the Peter Pan of the
films. A suggestion actuated by the best of motives,
and, theoretically, a good one. But it won't work out.

LISTEN, for instance, to a communication in re-
sponse from G. C. Herron, of Pittsburgh. Mr.
Herron says: " I believe there is only one actress who
can do the role real justice, and that is — Mary Pick-
ford. She and she alone shou'd play it."

MISS PICKFORD being a good bargainer, a good
business woman, would probably run the cost
of this picture up to a prohibitive figure, and make it,
in its final analysis, a one-star affair, instead of the fine,
well-rounded, really all-star production that it should
be. We agree with Mr. Herron that Miss Pickford
would be an ideal Peter Pan, but we certainly do not
believe "Peter Pan" should be a star play.

THE proof of the photoplay's slow but sure arrival
within the plane of artistic intelligence is demon-
strated by the fact that it is escaping from the bonds of
stardom. Former stars like Lew Cody and Bessie Love
and at least a score equally well-known are appearing
in supporting roles. Mildred Harris has definitely
signed to appear in a Cecil deMille feature which stars
no one. Even Dorothy Dalton, one of the brightest
planets in the celluloid heaven, is said to have agreed —
and very sensibly, too — to be "one of the cast." This
way actors and actresses are made. This way great
plays come into life.

MEANWHILE there's a lot of surmise as to who
will really play Peter, and Betty Compson seems
to have the best of the guessing just now. It is de-
clared that she has already been chosen by Jesse
Lasky to portray Lady Babbie in a non-star "Little
Minister," with a likelihood that "Peter Pan" will
follow.

WHEN R. H. Cochrane, vice-president of Universal,
returned from his six months' regency at Uni-
versal City, one of the first persons he met was R. A.
Rowland, president of Metro, which recently turned
Ibanez' greatest novel into film. Mr. Rowland im-
mediately insisted upon motoring the Universal official
out to Rye, a suburb of Xew York, in order to show him
his newly-acquired country estate. It has, among other
things, a fine new garage, and a rambling, ancient
barn. "Haven't moved out, yet," explained Rowland.
"so all I'm keeping in the garage is four horses."
"Oh, yes," returned Cochrane, drily. "I suppose
you're using the barn to keep the Apocalypse. "

KID McCOY, according to late reports, is to film
his matrimonial experiences. What an oppor-
tunity the late Mr. Bluebeard, and other notable
husbands missed.

TF State censorship is finally saddled upon Xew York,
* as seems very likely now, it will be a very serious
precedent in the industry. The Xew York legislature
has passed the bill; Governor Miller, before signing,
merely waits courteously upon some more or less in-
formal protests.

AXD yet we are not blaming the legislators as much
as we are blaming the film people themselves.
The exhibitors — every one of them vitally concerned —
gave no proper co-operation. The blue-law group

which forced the bill through was as finely organized
as any political machine which ever dictated Xew York
state politics — and that's saying a great deal. It
knew what it wanted, and it started out to get- it in
logical, systematic fashion which thoroughly prepared
every step of the way. To oppose — and if possible to
defeat — this formidable organization, the film folk sent
a mere skirmish array, punctuated by an occasional
big gun. The outfit in general was laughingly sure of
victory. They went to a merry Bull Run — and de-
served it. Mr. Griffith held a battalion briefly, with
his usual speech, but he was not supported. Rex
Beach made a few remarks. General Brady begged
for "a year to clean up" — and in that strange blunder
for so wary a fighter fastened an overwhelming indict-
ment on the industry he was trying quite unselfishly
to protect. Where were the exhibitors? Where were
the trained, logical special pleaders who should have
answered slur with incontrovertible fact? They may
have been anywhere — but they weren't at Albany.

TT is said that Los Angeles haberdashers turned Lack
■*■ a consignment of twenty thousand caps upon hearing
that cameramen in the Angel environs were affecting
a change of headgear. Ah well — other times, other
helmets.

TWO or three "big" ] icturcs lately have been a
veritable triumph of ignorance. Ever since D. W.
the great criterion, began dipping back into history for
his parables, his lesser-lighted but lofty-salaried breth-
ren have been doing the same. With this variation:
he took history pretty much as it stands; they write
their own.

WE recall a mile or so of celluloid, recently sent forth
with press-agent thunder and exhibitorial light-
ning, in which the star was the director's brunette wife.
Why didn't this man get at least competent help in his
scenario? Where were they who furnished the hundreds
of thousands of dollars that went into this scroll of in-
fantile illustrations "from the past" — in which a gallop-
ing bevy of females are labelled "Women Amazons"?
Would we have a tariff against the continentals to pro-
tect abysmal stupidities like this? If so the loud
laughter wouldn't be on this side of the Atlantic.

EDITOR Herbert Kaufman recently walked into a
colossal Hollywood production illuminating a cele-
brated dame of King Solomon's time, and when he
emerged a friend asked him, not too seriously, what he
though of the director's familiarity with history. "He
isn't familiar with history." gravely answered Kaufman.
"He's just affable with it."

HAYE you ever noticed the curious ways in which the
ancients registered emotion — according to these
transparencies? We've wondered how they did it. and
never knew until we watched a sorely beset maiden of
800 B. C. She put her thrill across, apparently, by
swallowing her spearmint — a good trick if it doesn't
bo ..her your digestion.

THERE are plenty of good nickel cigars — for a quar-
ter. Likewise, there are plenty of good two-reel fea-
tures— in seven spools. We don't mind so much the
waste of a manufacturer's money and months, but the
waste of audience time is really shocking.

VI YE la Belgique! According to "Le Xation Beige,"
the motion picture machine is really the invention
of a Belgian, who has been experimenting upon it since
1851. "All that Edison did," gravely declares this pe-
riodical, "was to aid in its development." How fortu-
nate that Mr. Edison lent a helping hand. Only the
Belgian realizes that the first fifty years are the hardest.

By
BURNS MANTLE

OXSIDER the family at the movies. And how seldom
there is anything in the feature picture for every member
of it. If mother and the girls are satisfied with the
romance, father and the boys consider it piffle. If son
likes the shooting, sister shivers. If mother raves over the
gowns, father considers the diminishing pay check and grows
uneasy.

But once or twice in a blue moon we have a picture the
family group can gather around and applaud with a happy
enthusiasm. Usually, I've found, it is an adventure picture
with enough romance to justify the story and point up the
love interest that makes the whole world grin with satisfaction.
Marshall Xeilan is adept at pleasing the family, and his newest
picture, " Bob Hampton of Placer." is one of his best. He has
such a fine sense of the comradeship of men that he is the
men-tolks' pal before his first reel is well started. He is so
true to the best instincts of womanhood that mother approves
of him from the start. He knows better than sister herself
the sort of an upstanding hero she can openly worship without
being called silly, and as for the boys — he keeps them teetering
on the edges of their seats and tingling with the enthusiasm
that makes boyhood i he finest adventure of life.

In " Hob Hampton" he also has the most thrilling of histor-
ical backgrounds — that of Custer's last stand. He handles it
wonderfully. It was taken, we understand, on the site of the
battle itself, which gives it added pictorial value. And he
has woven into it not only a good love story but an adventure
for the popular Wesley Barry that will add youthful hero-
worshippers by the thousand to that gifted youngster's popular
following. His battle pictures are as thrilling as those that

made the Crifnth reputation in "The Birth of the Nation,"
with all the added value of modern lighting and artistic group-
ing that the pictures of today command over those of yesterday.
The cast, too, is wisely chosen, with James Kirkwood playing
just the sort of individual he makes most human. Marjorie
Daw is an agreeable sort of heroine, Noah Beery a gloriously
vicious villain, and Pat O'Malley, Priscilla Bonner and Carrie
Ward Clarke help out nicely with the minor roles.

DECEPTION— Paramount'Artcraft

Al iig, solid, impressive picture, this German-made section
of English history. It bulks large, as the saying is, in
crowds, actors, royal palaces and royal physiques. But it bulks
large, also, in art. and sets standards in the matter of the histori-
cal drama on the screen which native directors will have to con-
sider if ever they become interested in pictures of this type.
You would never know it from the title, but "Deception"
deals exclusively with that period of Henry VlII's career in
which he tired of Catherine and fancied Anne Boleyn; covers
the incident of his establishing the church of England that he
might control its divorce laws, proceeds to the fall from favor
of the unhappy Anne and the suggested rise of the scheming
Jane Seymour, and ends with Anne's march to the scaffold.
It isn't a picture that is particularly creditable to English
history, as you may easily imagine. You could hardly expect
that of the late enemy. But neither is it easy to discover
within it the subtle propaganda with which the more excitable
have declared it to be filled. It is very much worth seeing.

Photoplay Magazine

"Deception" is a German made portion of English history,

dealing with Henry VIII, his wife Catharine, and Anne

Boleyn, whose march to the scaffold forms the nnale. It

is very much worth seeing.

Jackie Coogan, of rare talent and lovable personality,

probably will never again have the chance that Chaplin

gave him in "The Kid." However, his acting in ' Peck s

Bad Boy" proves that he is a fine little actor.

"The Perfect Crime presents Monte Blue in a Jekyll and

Hyde role demanding unusual talent. An improbable but

decidedly original story.

DREAM STREET— United Artists

FATHER GRIFFITH seems to feel that he should apologize
for " Dream Street." "We do not make any great promises
one way or the other," he writes in the program; "we have
done the best we could." There really is no call for an apology.
And if apology must be made, a better basis for it would be
the length rather than the quality of the picture. It is not
a super-feature picture. Which is to say it is not a $2 picture.
But it is an interesting and beautifully screened "regular"
picture. If it were sharpened by being cut from twelve to
seven reels it would retain all its stronger points and lose
nothing but its padding and repetilion, and a dozen or so
close-ups expressing grief, or fear, or terror, or surprise. With
his Dickensian flair for over-emphasizing character D. W. slips
into the habit of holding his close-ups so long the character
itself fades and you hear nothing but the stentorian tones of
the director himself shouting: "Hold it, Carol!" "Foi
God's sake, weep a little, Charlie!" "Get the terror into it,
Ralph!" Or, if you know nothing of the methods of picture-
taking, you wonder just why you must be shown again and
again how the heroine looks when she is in trouble and mightily
upset about it.

SACRED AND PROFANE LOVE— Paramount-Artcraft

ELSIE FERGUSON comes back to the screen rested and a
little more eager than she was when she left it, but she
comes back in a picture that gives her little opportunity to
realize upon either her recovered energy or her talent as an
actress. The story of "Sacred and Profane Love" is rather
muddled in the telling as it has been cut for the screen. To
any unfamiliar with the real adventures of Carlotta Peel it
must be extremely difficult to understand her wanderings over
half the earth and the part various undeveloped romances
played in her life. The opening incident of her meeting with
and romantic enslavement by Diaz, the pianist, is convincingly
and delicately handled out of respect for the new order of
censorship. But the story breaks there and the rest of it is
wabbly and uncertain. Conrad Nagel gives another fine
performance as Diaz, proving the possession of a fine sense
of character he established in "What Every Woman Knows."

SENTIMENTAL TOMMY— Paramount- Artcraft

THE spirit with which a director approaches a picture is
certain to shine through the screen, and John Robertson's
love of "Sentimental Tommy" has done a lot for this picture.
Sometimes, it seemed to me, it proved a bit of a handicap, in
that in establishing the characters of Tommy and Grizel, the
Painted Lad\' and the good Dr. McQueen, he forgets that the
story, well known as to title though it is, is still a generation
old and only the Barrieites remember it well enough to get full
value from it. It is a refreshingly wholesome picture, how-
ever, splendidly acted and beautifully set, with a Long Island
Thrums fairly steeped in Scotch atmosphere. Here Tommy
and Elspeth drift into the village and fly to the defense of
Grizel. Here the Painted Lady lives her pathetically short
life at the edge of town, where the respectables have shunted
her, and from here Tommy starts on his career as a literary
man in London, later to return and shatter the heart of Grizel
by his mystified indifference to her shy, devoted love of him.
And here, finally, Tommy discovers a true affection for the
unhappy girl, providing a happy ending Barrie might not
altogether approve, though we doubt if he would seriously
object to it. Through the story the clear art of a fine little
actress in May McAvoy flashes with a positive radiance.
Gareth Hughes as perfectly visualizes Tommy as any screen
actor could, and acts him much better than most of them
would. George Fawcett is the Dr. McQueen and Mabel
Taliaferro the Painted Lady.

THE CABINET OF DR. CALIGARI— Goldwyn

CHANGE, say the psychologists, is rest. From which basis it
might easily be argued that "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari"
is as good as a week in the mountains for any movie fan tired
of the conventional picture. Certainly it is a complete change.
However relaxing it may be depends greatly upon the sus-

Photoplay Magazine

ceptibility of the spectator. Being a reasonably calm, ordinary
sort of individual we left the theater believing strongly that
the author of the picture was a little mad, the director a little
madder, the actors engaged quite mad indeed. The American
distributors bought the picture from its German owners.
Yet we were conscious of having seen a perfect sample of that
cubistic art of which we have read so much since the first nude
descended the staircase looking like a patchwork quilt in
eruption. "Caligari," then, is the weird story of a German
scientist who carts a somnambulistic youth about the country
in a coffin-like cabinet, sets him up at county fairs as an
exhibit and releases him at night that he may commit a murder
or two between bedtime and breakfast. It is a story told,
and seen, by a disordered mind, with all the scenery jumbled
in fantastic shapes and the features of the players weirdly
angular and wildly staring. But it is momentarily returned
to normal at its conclusion and the effect is one of having seen
an Edgar Allan Poe thriller cleverly transferred to the screen.
We would not, however, take the children. They will be just
as well off and a lot happier if they do not meet " Dr. Caligari."
The German actors are excellent, Werner Krause giving a
good performance as the weird doctor and Conrad Yeidt an
uncanny subject.

PECK'S BAD BOY— First National

IT is a rare acting talent and a lovable personality that
Jackie Coogan brings to the screen. But his directors will
be hard put to it to find stories to fit him. Probably never
again will he have the chance that Charlie Chaplin gave him
in "The Kid." He misses it in "Peck's Bad Boy." largely
by reason of the contrast this picture offers to the master
comedy in which he made his debut. But he is still a fine
little actor, surprisingly unconscious of the camera and
capable of holding an audience's undivided attention so long
as he is in view. As the mischievous Henry he filches the
grocer's prunes and dried apples, fools father out of circus
money and finally fills the same unhappy parent's lumbago
pad with ants, causing more or less commotion when father
carries the ants to church with him. We fear for Jackie, after
seeing him carried around New York and kept constantly on
exhibition for the benefit of the publicity men of his organiza-
tion. But we hope for the best. It would be a great pity if
his little head should be hopelessly turned — turned so far, that
is, that he suddenly would find himself running backward in
place of forward.

MADE IN HEAVEN- Goldwyn

HERE is another happy Irish hero for Tom Moore to toy
with — a lad who arrives from Ireland with his dad and
his sister in the first reel and achieves the fire department in
the second, invents a flame extinguisher in the third, acquires
a dress suit in the fourth and the pretty heroine in the fifth.
A pleasant little comedy, with laughing Tom employing his
usual good taste in the selection of heroines. One good look
at Helene Chadwick, even through clouds of smoke, and he
promptly picks her up, throws her across his shoulder and
carries her down a long ladder to safety and future closeups.
He is a versatile boy, too, with a convincing way with him.
You could no more doubt his being a good fireman than you
could question his being a good whitewing in "Hold Your
Horses," and though "Made in Heaven" lacks the body of
that particularly good comedy, it is worthy of inclusion in the
current Moore series. We were a little mixed as to why, and
when, he changed his name. The program called him Lowry,
and the subtitles spoke of him as O'Gara. But he rather
favored the O'Garas in appearance, so we'll blame the printer
for the Lowry. Victor Schertzinger directed the picture from
a story written by William Hurlbut. Renee Adoree (the new
Mrs. Moore) plays a smart part prettily.

HUSH— Equity

CELDOM have we seen a heroine so intent upon telling her
**J husband an episode of her past that she knew would result
in their estrangement, as the lady who is the mainspring of
the action in "Hush." She simply refuses to listen to reason.
Possibly because she knew if she did there would have been
no picture. "Hush," therefore, never really gets under way
as a reasonable stor}\ and its obvious moral — that where

Pauline Frederick is excellent in her four roles in Roads

of Destiny, a photoplay adapted from Channing Pollock s

stage play, which was based on the original story by O.

Henry.

Griffith s Dream Street is not a super-picture but an
interesting and beautifully-screened regular picture.
It would lose nothing but padding and repetition by being
cut from twelve to seven reels.

"The Whistle, a story of the struggle between capital
and labor, provides Wm. S. Hart with one of his best
roles. A drab picture, painted with brilliant touch.

Photoplay Magazine

The Queen of Sheba is a Baraesque Fox production.
J. Gordan Edwards founded his ancient kingdom of Sheba
on some absolutely new information. Betty Blythe makes
a beautifully-realized queen.

"Sacred and Profane Love brings back a rested and eager

Elsie Ferguson, but the story of Carlotta Peel is re-told

in a wabbly and uncertain fashion. Conrad Nagel gives

another fine performance.

The Traveling Salesman should win over many who

have scorned Roscoe Arbuckle s custard-pie offerings of

the past. Well directed and well photographed.

ignorance is bliss it is folly to spill the beans — is so plainly
established at the outset there is no kick left in its delayed
statement. Clara Kimball Young graces the various scenes
with her beauty, and there are detached episodes that are well
handled.

THE SKY PILOT— First National

TTAYING to do with the Western gentlemen who fight at
*■ *■ the drop of the sombrero or the dash of likker in the face,
shoot straight and die game, Director King Yidor elected to
fill Ralph Connor's "Sky Pilot" as full of thrills as six reels
will stand. Therefore he has the fight in the saloon, in which
a tenderfoot minister of the gospel gives the fresh cowboy
the hiding of his screen life; the tumbling hero whose horse
is shot under him at the crest of the ridge, plunging both
animal and rider down the embankment; the busted bridge
over the deep gorge, and, most thrilling of all, a stampede of
cattle plunging directly at John Bowers and Colleen Moore.
This last bit is, I consider, the best thrill of the year, being free
of trickery so far as the layman can tell, and mightily danger-
ous. They should have paid Bowers a bonus for agreeing to
head off that plunging bunch of longhorns. The story drifts
occasionally into conventional scenes, but these are well
played and the audience likes them.

CHICKENS— Thos. H. Ince-Paramount

TT may be 1 lack a sufficiently plastic imagination fully to
* appreciate a certain type of movie. I find it practically
impossible, for example, to work up any great interest in a
hero who admits that he does not know the difference between
a hen and a' rooster, and who is so improbably irresponsible
that he bets an $8,000 motor car against a second-hand Ford
that the Detroit pride cannot pull his stalled machine out of a
shallow creek. His adventures and romances thereafter fail
to inspire even a moderate curiosity. "Chickens," which is
a new Douglas McLean picture, develops this weakness in
the first reel and never recovers. McLean is a wholesome,
good-looking, talented boy. He can go on for some time
satisfying his flapper public with this sort of comedy, but he
will gradually lose his larger and more dependable suppor ers
if his directors persist in making a fool of him.

By Photoplay Editors

THE QUEEN OF SHEBA— Fox

HC Wells manufactured his "Outline of History" a year too
• soon. J. Gordon Edwards could have given him a lot
of absolutely new information about the oh-so-ancient kingdom
of Sheba, whose very legends have been lost these many cen-
turies under the drifting desert sands of Southwestern Asia.
Mr. Edwards has reproduced that chapter of Sheban history
dealing with the visit of the well-known Queen to the better-
known Solomon, and Mr. Fox is the distributing educator.
Sheba was a great place, according to Mr. Edwards, though
fa'r from original in manners, morals, murals or murders.
They seem to have copied everybody in their architecture, the
Hollywood and Grecian schools predominating. They beat
Ben-Hur and the Romans neatly to it in their chariot-racing,
and with a couple of girls up to handle the four-in-hands, as
neat a track event as Saratoga ever saw is thundered into the
panorama cameras that follow competing stables of Egypt and
Arabia around the oval. Sheba is very beautifully realized
in the person of Betty Blythe. Gorgeous as her costumes are,
there seems to have been little need for a garb designed to
call conspicuous and continual attention to certain portions
of her anatomy; it would have been no treat for the Shebans,
and nowadays it is downright indelicate. And how are we to
realize a "moral" from a young woman who marries a king
only to assassinate him, whatever his record as maladminis-
trator and roue? Be that as it may, no sooner is Sheba a
loving wife and murderess, than off she goes to Solomonville,
to "learn wisdom." Like the Ringlings' spring trek out of
Fall River, so is Mme. Sheba's summer trek into Jerusalem;
she heads the parade on an elephant, preceding even the
calliope. A great many things happen in Jerusalem; every-
thing, in fact, except anything human. Nell Craig, quite as
attractive as ever, comes back from Essanay memories to play
the scowling rival jockey to Betty Sheba. Fritz Lieber is a
first-rate Solomon, but his several {Continued on page 68)

Jam Tomorrow— No Jam Today

A summary of Photoplay Magazine's campaign against
the Easy-Money men in motion pictures.

By
JOHN G. HOLME

IX its first article exposing and denouncing the financial
methods of motion picture companies which start in business
without any capital or adequate experience and finance
themselves wholly by sale of stock to the public, Photoplay
Magazine stated that, so far as its editors knew, no company
thus founded had ever paid dividends or restored to its investors
any part of their investment.

This statement was made a year ago. Since then Photo-
play has spared no effort in making a thorough and
impartial investigation of these stock companies
but it has failed to find a single one
that has made good financially. It has
failed to find a single one that has
succeeded in making artistic pic-
tures. Not a single one of
these companies has paid a
bona fide dividend. Not a
single one has contributed
anything worth while to
the motion picture in-
dustry of this country.

They have pointed
to great achieve-
ments in the past.
They have prom-
ised much for the
future, but they
have done nothing
in the present.
Their case is admi-
rably stated by the
White Queen in
"Through the Look-
ing Glass."

"The rule is," said
the White Queen to
Alice, "jam tomorrow
and jam yesterday — but
never jam today."

Motion picture companies
made millions yesterday, and
will make millions tomorrow —
but never today. That is the way
it is with the wild-cat motion pic-
ture companies. Jam yesterday
and jam tomorrow, but nothing
today.

Everything in the past and the
future, but yesterday is gone and
tomorrow never comes and the in-
vestor never sees a cent of his money, much less dividends.

In its investigation and survey of the motion picture indus-
try, Photoplay Magazine has thoroughly analyzed the affairs
of more than one hundred companies which have made the
public pay their bills for producing mediocre or wholly worthless
film dramas. The capitalization of these companies reaches a
total of more than $300,000,000. We have conservatively esti-
mated that the American public has actuallv paid out between
S50,000,000 and $75,000,000 in hard cash 'for stock in these
companies during the past year, every penny of which is lost.
Not a cent of this money will ever be recovered. Federal
authorities estimate that the American public during last year
paid out about §750,000,000 for worthless stock, so about one-
tenth of the sum thrown away for worthless stock in this coun-
try during the last year went into the pockets of the promoters
of motion picture companies.

Fake stock promoter — "What are you doing

in there ?
Fake movie school proprietor — "What arc you

doing out there ?

The results of Photoplay's campaign have been flattering.
There has been a sharp decline in the sale of stock by these irre-
sponsible companies. The public has been warned by the
articles which have appeared in Photoplay and by further pub-
licity which these articles have received. Thousands of persons
have written to this magazine seeking advice on motion picture
stock values. They have received impartial and sound advice
free o! charge. Several of the shakiest companies which tried
to do the impossible have gone out of business. They
have either been forced into bankruptcy or
they have just died without any court
formalities. The presidents of two
New York companies have disap-
peared. For the launching of one
of these companies the people
of Xew York City and
Washington, D. C, paid
more than half a million
dollars.
One gigantic motion
picture enterprise in a
far western city had
to be abandoned by
its promoters after
an investigation by
Photoplay had
caused the Cham-
ber of Commerce
and the leading
bank of the city in
question to with-
draw their support.
Photoplay has rea-
son to believe that it
saved the citizens of
this western city several
hundred thousand dol-
ars, although it has never
published a line in its col-
umns about this venture.
While it offers no excuse for
conditions in this country, at the
same time it may be of interest to
the readers of Photoplay to know
that the foreign motion ] icture
field has suffered no less from finan-
cial adventurers than the Ameri-
can. The best example of this
ma}- be found in the career of
M. Himmel, who flashed across the
film horizon of this country" so spectacularly last summer. He
had organized a $100,000,000 international motion picture syn-
dicate whereby he proposed to control the world motion picture
market. Half of this capital was to be raised in this country,
and American business men of unquestioned reputation became
actively interested with him. After his visionary scheme had
been analyzed and exposed by Photoplay and other publica-
tions, Himmel was eventually arrested in France where he has
recently confessed that several of the documents whereby he
induced people to purchase stock in his company and lend him
moral and business support were forged.

The affairs of a $5,000,000 British producing company have
received a good deal of space in the British press and in all film
publications of late. Reports from England state that the
company in question has virtually ceased producing, and it is
doubtful whether the stockholders {Continued on page 103)

'Drawn by f^prman oAnthony

Filming Lady Godiva's Ride

Producer — "Aw, let's bring it up to date! Make her a Follies
girl, an' have her sail down Broadway in a sporty car !

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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When you write to advertisers please mention niOTOI'LAY MAGAZINE.

minute. The weight of the bag did not les-
sen his general discomfort. He dropped into
the nearest transfer place and had the bag
sent to his apartments. While he was not at
all sure where he was going, he did at least
know it would be some place where he
wouldn't want the outfit in the bag, nor the
fishing-rods in the case on top of it. So, re-
lieved of the bag, he resumed his wholly
aimless ramble, still on the sunny side of the
street, since it required too much mental
effort to reason out how much more com-
fortable the shady side would be.

Here was everyone telling him he simply
must drop things for a time and go and
play. It looked simple enough to do a little
thing like that. But he had discovered it
wasn't. Trying to play seemed to be more
work than work itself. Maybe he was the
sort of man who couldn't play; who couldn't
interest himself in anything save work. But
they were telling him he wouldn't be in
shape to work unless he stopped to play for
a space. They might be right, or again they
might not. Work had been getting on his
nerves these past few months but thi> try-
ing to play got on them worse. There you
were! He seemed to have run up against a
great futility.

He came to a little square with a plot of
grass in the center of it, quite a sizable plot
of grass with trees shading it, and benches
beneath the trees. Paths crisscrossed this
young park and an iron fence that had all
the ornateness of the late '60's enclosed it.
The locality was one that was changing.
Old residences with brownstone fronts told
what it had been. The too numerous milk
bottles showing on the window ledges and
the little shop in every basement told what
it soon would be. Here and there a flat-
fronted metal-corniced tenement house be-
gan the fulfillment of the prophecies of the
milk bottles on the window ledges and the
emporiums of fish and provisions and gro-
ceries and dry-goods in every basement.

The benches beneath the trees were
sparsely occupied for so hot a day. The
shade of the trees looked inviting. All in
all the little park in the middle of the square
seemed a fairly quiet place. Peter crossed
over to it. He espied a bench, fairly se-
cluded and made for it. His nearest neigh-
bor was three benches distant and dozing as
well. It seemed feasible to sit down on this
bench in the shade and think things over;
whether he'd rake up something new to try
in the way of amusing himself or spare him-
self further disappointment by letting well
enough alone.

IF he intended to thresh this thing out he
must cut out the circles around which he
had been chasing himself of late. He must
keep his mental processes to a straight line
and get somewhere. To play or not to play
seemed to be the question he must settle.
He perched himself on the bench and took
off his hat and thrust his hands into his
pockets and puckered up his forehead.

But before he could get under way with
his problem the quiet of the place, which had
been the main element of attraction to him,
was suddenly shattered by shrill whoops
and calls and chatter and a high-pitched
squeal or two. Peter Judkins swung about
in annoyance. For the first time he noticed
a group of children beneath the trees. It
was a very animated group at that moment.
They were scurrying hither and yon, some
fifteen of them, egged on by a young woman
who was dressed in white.

There was a peculiar note in the whoops
and squeals. They sounded like made-to-
order affairs. Also the children trotted
about with machine-like movements, like so
many automatons. It struck Peter Judkins
that the small faces were all of them too
sober and too vacant.

There was some signal from the young
woman. The voices ceased. The young-

The Proper Abandon

(Continued from page 50)
sters gathered about her. She seated her-
self on the grass, and they pushed closer.
She was a remarkably good-looking young
woman, very cool in her white dress, very
efficient seeming, very patient, Peter no-
ticed. She explained something at length.
Peter liked her quick little gestures.

Then all the children scattered to various
appointed stations beneath the trees, some
of them placed by the patient and efficient-
seeming young woman herself, who gave
these over-backward ones yet further at-
tention in the way of long-suffering ex-
planation. And presently they were off
again, with all the rushing about, the
whoops, the chatter, the squeals, and the
young woman clapping her hands and urging
them to it.

PETER JUDKINS became greatly in-
terested. Finally it came to him with
something of a jolt that she was teaching
them to play; these sorry little human
misfits who must needs be taught that which
should have come to them through intui-
tion. She was doing it with a thoroughness
and an understanding of their poor little
needs that was really touching. Peter
Judkins became absorbed in the progress of
that game in the mottled shadows of the
trees; more absorbed than he had been in
anything for weeks and months.

It struck him at length that his own case
was analogous to that of these backward
children who must be taught to play. It
struck him with such force he caught his
breath and scowled and then chuckled.

"Now, maybe," mused the most brilliant
member of the well-known law firm of
Bronson and Judkins, "that's what I've
got to do. Learn to play!"

The quaint thought amplified itself as he
turned it over in his mind.

"And it's quite possible," he added to
himself, "I've got to learn from the begin-
ning; start in the primer class."

Forthwith, with a great deal of his old
decision, Peter Judkins arose from his
bench. It would have surprised him to
realize he was still able to make any deci-
sion in so short a time, had he stopped to
think about it. But he did not stop to
think about it. He marched across the
grass into the middle of the game. Natu-
rally it terminated rather abruptly at his
appearance in the midst of it. The vacant-
faced children withdrew a space and stared
at him. The young woman in white beheld
him and reddened with annoyance. Peter
took off his hat and engineered a decidedly
stiff and formal bow, refusing to recognize
the fact that he was an unwarranted in-
truder and that the young woman's face
had grown more angrily — and becomingly —
red as he accomplished that jerky bow.

"I have been watching your work with
these children," said Peter. "I am tre-
mendously interested in it."

Since she had taken up this work at the
Elizabeth Patterson House, which was the
one old brownstone front on the square
whose window ledges were guiltless of milk
bottles or similar decorations, Sarah Wen-
dell had listened to that statement several
times. She had heard it from many men
who had invaded her precincts beneath the
trees, in the little park and lifted their hats
and bowed just as this man had bowed.
Some of them were young men and some of
them were men who were trying desperately
to hide the fact that they were not young.
All of them were more or less vapid of face
and too carefully groomed. None of them
had the air of distinction of this latest
invader; none of his seriousness of purpose;
none of his quiet force. He might be young
or he might be old. His hair, the freshness
of his skin, his general appearance gave
weight to the former supposition; but a
droop to his shoulders, something tired in
the gray eyes, and deep lines at the corners

of them suggested the exuberance of youth
was well behind him. Whatever his years,
he was old enough to know better. He was
not at all like the other men who had
simpered their expressions of interest in her
work, and whom she had promptly and
most effectively dealt with. This man with
his rather nice smile and his air of distinc-
tion was much more dangerous. It made
Sarah Wendell madder — both with him
and with herself for admitting such things
about him to herself.

There was an overlong interval before
she spoke.

"Oh, are you?" she said in a voice some
ten degrees below the freezing point.

The man before her refused to be con-
gealed. He was apparently able to ignore
sudden drops in temperature without so
much as the quiver of an eyelid.

"Fearfully interested," he rattled on
eagerly. " I am wondering if you happen to
have room in your class for another mem-
ber?"

Sarah waited for the specific designation
of that prospective member, and somehow
the designation did not surprise her in the
least.

"I mean myself," said Peter.

The request being unusual enough to
demand explanatory bolstering up, and the
young woman offering not so much as a
helpful question about such explanation'
Peter, perforce, in simplest self-defense,
launched into it:

"You see, people who ought to know all
about such things have told me I must drop
everything and run about and play for a
time. I've been trying to do it. But I
don't know how to play. I've tried — oh,
lots of things these past three weeks, but
they've all been worse than work. I've
worked ever since I was so high. My
people died when I was a little shaver, and
some neighbors — that was in a little up-
state town — took me in out of the goodness
of their hearts or else because I was an
asset in the work line. I've always tried
to be fair about it; but I'm convinced the
latter was the strongest motive. I worked,
anyway, until I ran away from them
because there was always so much work
waiting for me. I never learned to play
because I never had the time to play."

He paused, apparently to see how the
explanation was going with her. There was
nothing about her to give him an inkling in
this line. She was still a block of ice, carven
into the shape of a most attractive young
woman. She was thinking:

" He's clever, too, as well as distinguished-
looking. So much the worse."

" QO when they told me to run away and
O play, "Peter hurried on, "I was all at
sea because I'd never learned how to play. In
my sink-or-swim life until I found my
footing and got under way there wasn't
anything but work. There hasn't been
much else since, either. I've grown quite
familiar with vork; know it inside out and
upside down and over and under and
through and between. But play is a differ-
ent proposition. I don't know anything
about it. I've really tried very hard to
play; golf, and cruising along the coast in a
motor-boat, and scaring marsh-birds to
death with a shot-gun, and fishing, but I
couldn't seem to get the hang of any of
them. And they shoo me out of the office
when I go back there and tell them work is
my one best bet, after all. And I was
getting pretty discouraged about it all
when I saw you teaching these kids how to
play. I really believe you could teach me
the trick. You see, I've got to start in the
A-B-C class. That's perfectly clear."

Sarah W'endell was saying to herself:
"He is clever. It's even a plausible yarn.
He needs a lesson."

{Continued on page 66)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOl'LAY MAGAZINE.

The corners of her mouth moved ever so
slightly. She looked at him with her brows
lifted just the right amount.

"You expect me to teach you the rudi-
ments of play?" she asked.

"Would you?" he said eagerly.

"Here, with these children?"

The question was put to him with the
idea that he would hem and haw and
tentatively suggest a less public place and
private lessons. Either by accident or
design he dodged the pitfall. If she had
thrown him a challenge he had accepted it.

"Why yes. Surely. Let me learn with
the children," said he.

SHE hadn't quite expected that answer.
It seemed to disconcert her somewhat.
Added to the other qualities in his favor, he
was game. The extent of that gameness
she would find out. Her eyes narrowed.

"When would you like to begin?" she
asked him.

"There's no time like the present. 'Do
It Now' has always been one of my favorite
mottos."

There was a momentary flash of amuse-
ment in her eyes. Then they were the
normal, patient, understanding eyes again.
The eyes Peter Judkins found it very easy
to look into, even if he could not read
much in them.

"Very well," said she. "Suppose you
take off your coat and hat — "

Peter did so.

" — And stand on your head."

"I'm not sure I could."

"You might try."

"I didn't realize I began that way. I
thought perhaps I'd have a part in the
games." ,

" To take part in the games, to play them,
to learn how to play, you'll first have to
acquire a proper abandon. Standing on
your head, or trying to, may bring it."

"Oh, all right."

Once more the eyes Peter liked to watch
flashed and grew quiet again as she beheld
him getting down to his knees, putting the
top of his head on the grass and then kicking
his legs up stiffly. The result of all this was
somewhat disastrous.

"Woof!" he grunted quite involuntarily
as he came down with a crash that knocked
the wind out of him.

"Try again," she advised him.

But the second and third attempts and
the many attempts following were no more
successful.

Peter, sitting up breathless and somewhat
dazed, after the fifteenth, was surprised at
the number of people in that quiet little
park. Surely there had not been anything
like that number on the benches a few
moments since when he first came here.
But here was a goodly crowd, lining the
edge of the nearest walk, beholding with
great delight his efforts to stand on his head
and urging him on with applause and good-
natured advice.

"I'm afraid I just can't manage that
stunt," said Peter, trying to appear ob-
livious to the gallery. "Isn't there some-
thing else I could do that would give me
that proper initial abandon?"

The young woman's eyes sparkled again
as she took in the highly delighted spectators
on the path edge.

"Suppose you roll over and over on the
grass."

Peter, too, glanced at the on-lookers.
He glanced at them both ruefully and with
much doubt. But he began to roll over
and over along the grass.

A new idea came into Sarah's head.

"And yell as if you liked it," she sug-
gested. " Not that way; loud, as if you just
couldn't help yelling."

So Peter yelled and rolled, and rolled and
yelled; and then he galloped about on all
fours and made more strange sounds, until

The Proper Abandon

(Continued from page 64)
the gallery was becoming hysterical and the
young woman in sheer pity called a halt.

"That's enough for this time," she de-
clared.

"If there's anything else — "

"No. A little at a time and absorb it
thoroughly," said she.

"I believe I do feel that proper abandon
coming. Anyway, I feel sort of in the spirit
of the thing. May I sit here and watch the
rest of the children's games?"

"The play-hour is over. I'm taking
them back to the House, now."

"Oh! But of course I can come tomorrow.
You're here every day, aren't you?"

"You want to come again tomorrow?"
she asked as if it filled her with surprise.

"Why, I haven't learned anything about
real play; just absorbed a few of the barest
rudiments, haven't I?"

She looked at him silently and very fixedly
for a moment. Then the faintest hint of
red came into her cheeks.

"Tomorrow we shall be playing circus.
We'll need an elephant, a good, strong
elephant that can carry two or three pas-
sengers on its back. If you cared for that
role — "

"I'll endeavor to be the sort of elephant
that is all that he should be," said he, picking
up his coat and hat. " It will be at the same
hour?"

"The same time."

He lifted his hat and went out of the little
park. The crowd of spectators cheered him.
More than half of them came crowding after
him. They trailed him until in a dingy
street just beyond the square, he spied a
passing taxi, flagged it, and dove into it.
He whirled away, picking bits of grass off
his trousers and out of the back of his
collar, withal quite pleased with his morning
and with himself.

The elephant-elect was in the little park
next morning somewhat ahead of the ap-
pointed hour. He intended to have every
minute of that play period. So he was there
before Sarah Wendell and her charges from
the Elizabeth Patterson House had put in
an appearance.

It was another day that bade fair to be a
scorcher. There was not even a semblance
of breeze to rustle the dust-gray leaves
above his head, and the mottled shadows
on the grass were but faint outlines because
the sun shone dimly through a hot haze in
the sky.

Peter paced up and down one of the
paths for a time, and then occupied a
bench for a space, and then resumed his
pacing with over-frequent glances at his
watch. Presently there was a babble
of voices across the grass. A little iron gate
in the fence on the far side of the park
opened, and the young woman in white
came in with her cohorts.

A series of very brisk and very eager
strides made Peter Judkins one of the
group.

"rT"'HE elephant is ready and waiting, you

J. see," he announced.

The young woman favored him with a
flickering smile which might have been a
sort of diffident welcome or merely an ex-
pression of her sardonic amusement. Peter
hoped it was the first but was inclined to
the opinion it was the second.

"First ride on the el'phant!" piped a
small girl with perfect Semitic features

"First ride! First ride!" rival claimants
for the honor took up the cry.

"Hush! Hush!" the young woman
stilled the rising clamor. "I thinic you're
going to be popular," she said to Peter.

"We aim to please," said he, taking off
his coat and folding it.

"He ain't got no trunk," a very young
son of Sicily offered his criticism. "El'-
phants ain't el'phants without no trunks."

"Didn't you bring your trunk?" asked

Sarah severely. "You see how it spoils
things when the elephant forgets his
trunk."

"Unpardonable oversight on my part,"
Peter apologized meekly. "I'll get one."

He went out of the little park and crossed
the square. He found a basement shop
given over to second-hand ranges and de-
crepit bedsteads and dusty upholstered
things of fearful and wonderful design and
almost everything else that had served its
purpose once and was ready to do it again
if it could hold together in the meanwhile.
Here Peter found and purchased a few feet
of rubber hose and some twine with which
to lash it on, and borrowed an awl to punch
holes in one end of the hose to run the
twine through.

BY putting a twist in one end of the hose
he managed a very creditable proboscis.
Once it was lashed securely to his features
with the twine and Peter was down on all
fours, swinging his head slowly to and fro
in realistic fashion and lumbering and
lurching about in an excellent imitation of
the pachyderm he impersonated. Sarah
found it necessary to wipe her eyes quickly
and covertly several times in succession.

With a decidedly cosmopolitan group of
passengers on his back selected by lot while
the waiting-list sullenly accepted its lesser
fortunes, Peter plodded in heavy-kneed and
heavy-handed manner over the grass. The
rubber-hose trunk swayed from side to side,
and anon Peter trumpeted in a way that
brought howls of glee from his riders both
present and prospective.

It was the sort of play that savored
strongly of work as the morning wore on,
for everybody wanted a ride, save only
small Sela Nalegian, who hid behind a tree
in terror and must needs be urged hence
and taught the harmlessness of the strange
anomaly lurching about the grass plot by
feeding it peanuts under the tutelage of
Becky Levine before her fears subsided
sufficiently to allow herself to be lifted to
the popular back. Peter panted and
grunted and lumbered about and trumpeted
shrilly. Perspiration streamed down his
face and made shiny patches on the rubber-
hose trunk. But he stuck to his job until
everybody had had his or her ride, even
timid Sela Nalegian who had an extra long
one because she found it so thoroughly de-
lightful once she had brought herself to the
point of trying it.

The gallery was even larger at the edge
of the path than it had been the previous
day. More vociferous, too; more free with
its sallies and advice. But Peter paid no
attention. Being an elephant, he found,
was a serious business, which left him no
time to consider what other people might
think about it.

So the morning play-period sped past,
and Sarah brought things in the park to a
finish. It was a very red-faced and breath-
less Peter Judkins who mopped his face and
picked up his coat and hat.

"Now that was bully!" he panted his
verdict of the proceedings. "Don't you
think I'm acquiring all that proper abandon
you mentioned yesterday?"

"Perhaps you've acquired quite enough
of it," said she.

"Oh, no indeed," he hastened to veto this
implied suggestion. "Just beginning. Just
getting my wind."

She looked at him with a slight tightening
of her lips.

"You have been a very apt pupil,' she
told him. "I hardly think I could teach
you any more abandon than you have
shown this morning. And abandon, catch-
ing the spirit of play, giving yourself
up to it, is the whole secret."

"But you see now I've caught it I want
to make sure of it. I want to keep at it a
(Continued on page 87)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

«w9

Noted makers of sport silks and sport
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5*255

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& COMPANY

David Crystal 8C Co.
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We estimate that one
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We are urging the use
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We find, for example,
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When >ou write (0 advertisers please mention PIIOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

hundred wives seem to have him a
bit worried. Tom Mix, they say, staged
the big Judean rodeo, and the thrills
he gets might lead the credulous to believe
that he did a little murdering on his own
account. The principal moral lesson is that
Los Angeles is a great place to run a lumber-
yard, a dry-goods store, a paint-house, a
carpenter-shop and a decorating business,
to say nothing of an agency for extras.
The Bara production is still with us. Our
bet is that if Theda had been there Solomon
would have gone home with her, to walk the
pet elephants in the cool of every tropic
evening.

THE PASSION FLOWER—

First National

MUCH was expected of this new Norma
Talmadge film. It disappointed. To
begin with, the play by the Spaniard
Jacinto Benevente was more of a study of
Spanish creeds and customs, morals and
manners, than it was good sound drama.
It is interesting to the student; it is not so
interesting to the casual reader. A play
was made of it; and now — a picture. It
may be presuming to surmise that Mr.
Schenck bought the film rights because of
the intriguing title — snappy, isn't it? — but
we have a suspicion that this is so. Herbert
Brenon, a good director, presided. The
result, on the screen, is a tedious, studied,
and uninspired vehicle for the emotional
Talmadge. If she had had this material to
act in three years ago, she might have made
it a sensational success. Today, she is too
sure of herself, she has all her emotional
tricks too nicely catalogued, to be con-
vincingly dramatic. The picture is over-
burdened with detail. It seemed that Mr.
Brenon had exercised too much care, that
the scenario writer had overwritten the
continuity; that the sets were Manhattan-
made, and the players, even the extras,
were puppets, and puppet-like, distressingly
unreal. Much has been made of this pro-
duction by metropolitan critics; but if the
expressionsof theaudiences are any criterion,
it did not interest. The audience we sat
among laughed too long and loudly at a
second-rate comedy to have been seriously
inspired by the Talmadge interpretation.
And it wasn't the fault of the audience.

THE CHARMING DECEIVER—
Vitagraph

A TRITE tale as an excuse for the
ingratiating presence of Alice Calhoun,
who is earnest and at times convincingly
dramatic as the persecuted heroine. We
would like to see this new little star in a
story which afforded more opportunities.
However, it is something to make the best
of those you have.

WHAT HAPPENED TO ROSA—
Goldwyn

AN extremely amusing comedy, border-
ing not infrequently upon the slap-
stick, and presenting Mabel Normand in a
characteristic role, that of a shop-girl who,
in her search for romance finds it necessary
to slide down coal chutes, swim rivers and
generally upset the established order of
things. In the type of comedy which she
created, Miss Normand stands alone.

THE PERFECT CRIME—

Associated Producers

IF there was a new plot under the sun,
we'd say that Allan Dwan had filmed it,
with Monte Blue in a Jekyll and Hyde
role demanding unusual talent. True, the

The Shadow Stage

(Continued from page 60)

story is highly improbable and at times
rather inconsistent, but, unless taken too
seriously, it's quite entertaining. Mr. Dwan
has rather improved upon the original
magazine story by Carl Clausen.

THE TRAVELING SALESMAN—
Paramount

DID you ever hear of slapstick-drama?
Neither did we, until Roscoe Arbuckle
introduced it, and most successfully in his
recent vehicles. He has opened up a field
peculiarly well suited to his talents, and
should win over many who have scorned
his custard-pie offerings of the past. Well-
directed and well-photographed, the James
Forbes play has gained in comedy possi-
bilities, in its second screening.

HIS GREATEST SACRIFICE— Fox

HERE, the storm signals are flying
during the very first reel, when the
film mamma leaves the church choir to
enter grand opera, and William Farnum, as
the film papa, kisses baby farewell, polishes
his revolver and starts upon his twenty-two
years of suffering. Said suffering continues
until even the scenario writer becomes dis-
couraged and ends things abruptly, pausing
only long enough to predict fairer weather.

MOTHER ETERNAL— Abramson

VIVIAN MARTIN, as the wife of a true-
hearted piano tuner who comes out
loser in a shooting fray, thus placing her
and her offspring at the mercy of the cruel
world, brings touches of sincerity to the
first part of this production but dispels
them when she follows the sub-title
"Twenty Years Later," her face an
astounding study in black and white grease
paint. The story is unnatural and illogical.
Far too great stress is laid upon the emo-
tional scenes, and our old friend coincidence
appears in many forms. Ivan Abramson is
producer, director and author. He should
have provided Miss Martin with a Benda
mask.

HANDS OFF— Fox

TOM MIX admirers, who delight in
seeing this agile horseman risk his neck,
will surely be satisfied with the excitement
he furnishes them in this picture. His
daring is seldom duplicated on the screen.
The story is the usual, impossible
"western," but Mix believes that the thrill,
not the play, is the thing, and has the
courage of his convictions.

THE WHISTLE— Paramount

THIS should stand out as one of the
finest contributions William S. Hart has
given the screen. The story is rather
tragic, that of a plain, middle-aged mill-
hand, who seeks to avenge the death of his
son, and the love theme is entirely one of
parent love. Such a plot would not make
for success in a photoplay, were it not for
careful direction, and the dignity and re-
pression with which Mr. Hart enacts his
role. A drab picture, painted with brilliant
touch.

ROADS OF DESTINY— Goldwyn

THE success of the multi-story photoplay
has never been marked, though this
elaboration of the O. Henry story which
Channing Pollock adapted to the stage, is
unusually well presented. Pauline Freder-
ick is excellent in her four different roles,
and the scenery varies from the dance halls
of Alaska to the drawing rooms of Long

Island. The theory advanced is that it is
impossible to avoid or escape one's fate,
which was decided at the beginning of Time.
John Bowers in Miss Frederick's support.

THE LAMP LIGHTER— Fox

OF course, you read this Maria
Susanna Cummins story, and enjoyed
it — when you were ten years old. Shirley
Mason is the waif whose cruel grandfather
sends her forth into the world unchaperoned
at the early age of one day, but who survives
to scatter sunshine in true Pollyanna man-
ner. We're sorry Shirley lost the kitten
during the third reel. It was holding our
interest.

THE DANGEROUS MOMENT—
Universal

A VERITABLE League of Nations—
with Carmel Myers as the Italian
waitress who throws chairs and things at
the Greek villain, and leaps through a sky-
light into the arms of the American hero.
Greenwich Village is the locale, and Marcel
De Sano, the young Roumanian director,
holds the megaphone. This picture lives
up to its title.

THE TOM BOY— Fox

A MOONSHINE still, hidden away
not in the Kaintucky hills, but in a
small-town stable! A beautiful girl who
isn't the moonshiner's daughter, a hero who
comes from the city with a shiny automo-
bile and a waxed moustache, and a villain
who works in a freight depot. Surely, the
old order changeth, and hardly, it seems,
for the better.

THE FREEZE-OUT— Universal

THIS is one of the best western pictures
we've seen recently. Interest is sus-
tained throughout, without resorting to the
usual amount of melodrama common to
this type of story. Harry Carey is the
mysterious stranger who comes out of the
nowhere into the here, reforms the town
and wins the school ma'am.

DUCKS AND DRAKES— Realart

HERE is a decidedly clever comedy, in
which four men determine to furnish
a headstrong young lady with excitement,
and succeed in doing so. Bebe Daniels, as
the aforementioned h. y. 1. is quite at her
best, photographically and otherwise. If
you don't take life too seriously, and appre-
ciate being entertained and amused, you
will enjoy this film. Jack Holt opposite
Miss Daniels.

THE HEART OF MARYLAND—
Vitagraph

THIS famed Belasco success comes to the
screen in a photoplay of rare merit, with
Catherine Calvert and Crane Wilbur in the
leading roles. Much credit should go to
Tom Terriss, the director, for having made
a costume play in which the characters, not
the costumes, command the most attention.
The action is smooth and even, building up
to the dramatic climax. Altogether, a
decidedly worth-while production.

DESPERATE YOUTH— Universal

THERE'S a title, for you! Another tale
of the old South, with Gladys Walton
a demure Cinderella in hoop-skirts. The
story does not measure up to her usual
standard, but is mildly entertaining.
(Concluded on page 102)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

I 9 3b /

tUi rv^cjU

-^-v^O

<rv^

— / heard a very unkind remark
about my complexion"

A humiliating experi-
ence, and the gratify-
ing result to which it
led, are recorded in
this letter. To those
who are interested we
will be glad to give the
writer's name.

TS it really true that women comment upon
-*■ — actually discuss — the complexion of
another ?

Too often it is an experience as humili-
ating as that of Mrs. B which brings

home to a woman the poignant realization
that she has neglected her complexion —
sacrificed so much of her charm and attrac-
tiveness.

There is, of course, no need for one to
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Read this booklet of treatments

When you get your first jar of Ingram's
Milkweed Cream you will find in the package
a booklet of Health Hints. This booklet
tells you the most effective way in which to
use Ingram's Milkweed Cream — tells you
how to use it in treating the common troubles
of the skin. Read this booklet carefully.
It has been prepared by specialists to insure
that you get from Ingram's Milkweed Cream
the fullest possible benefit.

Go to your druggist today and purchase
a jar of Ingram's Milkweed Cream in the
fifty-cent or the one dollar size. Begin at
once to make your complexion as beautiful
as it should be. It will mean so much to you.

ItigfatnUs
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use a touch of Ingram's Rouge on
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Established 1885

Canadian residents address F. F. Ingram Company,
Windsor, Ontario.

Australian residents address T. W. Cotton Pty., Ltd.,
383 Flinders Lane, Melbourne.

New Zealand residents address Dimond & Hart, 33
Ghunzee Street, Wellington.

Cuban residents address Espino & Co., Zulueta 36'2,
Havana.

Ingram's Beauty Purse — an attractive, new souvenir packet of
the exquisite Ingram Toilet-Aids. Send us a dime, with the cou-
pon below, and receive this dainty Beauty Purse for your hand bag.

Frederick F. Ingram Co., 102 Tenth St., Detroit, Michigan.

Gentlemen: — Enclosed, please find one dime, in return for which please
send me Ingram's Beauty Purse containing an eider-down powder pad,
sample packets of Ingram's Velveola Souveraine Face Powder, Ingram's
Rouge, and Zodenta Tooth Powder, a sample tin of Ingram's Milkweed
Cream, and, for the gentleman of the house, a sample
tin of Ingram's Therapeutic Shaving Cream.

•255

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAT MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

RS. W. E. A., Roxbury, Mass.
You say if fashion dictates shorter
skirts you don't know what
you'll do. I know — you'll wear
'em! Oh, Jack Holt isn't dangerous at all —
except, perhaps, from the screen. He is
married and the father of several children.
He was born in Virginia and educated at the
Virginia Military Academy. Holt was once
an extra. Hard to believe, isn't it? He's
working now in "The Grim Comedian," at
the Lasky studio in Hollywood.

M. D., Brookville, Pa. — Life is not a
broad highway for us to travel. There are
many byways, and it is very easy to lose
your way, even in these days of stationary
lamp-posts. Gareth Hughes, Rubye de
Remer, and the Novak sisters are not mar-
ried. But they are saying Jane or Eva —
I don't know which — is engaged to be Mrs.
William S. Hart on a permanent co-starring
contract. Time alone will tell.

Irexe. — Reminds me of the Scotchman
who said, "Aye, I have a match — but I'll
be lighting my pipe in a few minutes and
ye can wait." I am not niggardly with
my matches of wit and wisdom. In fact,
I am prodigality itself with such answers
as: Marguerite Clark is very happily
married to H. Palmerson Williams and:
no, there is not the slightest possibility of
their being divorced. Seriously, the Wil-
liams' are just about the most devoted
couple I have ever seen. Marguerite won't
give up the screen but she will make only
one or two pictures a year.

Helexe I. O. — You cannot expect un-
swerving allegiance to all the old-timers,
with so many new stars coming along.
Still, I get a good many letters about Henry
Walthall. There was a rumor that he was
to return to pictures, but I have heard no
confirmation of it. Walthall is married
to Mary Charleson. He is now touring
the country in Ibsen's "Ghosts. "

Miss Evaxgelixe, Michigax. — There
is no fee. We are but epistolary ships that
pass in the night, or flowers that bloom in
the spring, tra la — whichever you prefer.
By the way, why don't you ask me some
questions?

Peggy. — Why should I divulge my birth-
date? These movie stars can remain silent
on the subject and get away with it. It
is only one of their many privileges, where-
as my complete anonymity is my only
refuge and recreation. Don't begrudge it
me, said he in the Shakesperian manner.
Vincent Coleman won't tell his age either;
but it is his real name, he is unmarried, and
has brown hair and eyes. Pat O'Malley
in "Go and Get It." Gladys Brockwell in
"The Sage Hen" for Pathe directed by
Edgar Lewis.

"Peach" Column From
Uncle Sam's Movie
Directory

By J. R. O'NEILL

May. S. C.
Allison. la.
Alice. N. D.
Brady. Tex.
Ethel, Miss.
Clayton, N. Y.
Viola. Ark.
Dana. 111.
Dorothy, N. J.
Dalton. Mass.
Elsie, Ga.
Ferguson, Ky.
Pauline, Neb.

Frederick. Okla.
Vivian, La.
Martin, Me.
Anita, Pa.
Stewart, Ala.
Norma, Tenn.
Talmage, Kan.
Pearl, Idaho.
White. S. D.
Clara. Md.
Kimball. Minn.
Young. O.

C. W. G., Charlestox. — David Powell
is married. He is also abroad. The last
I saw of him was in the photograph pub-
lished in our Plays and Players department
in the April issue, which showed Mr. Powell
pretending to read a letter on the Riviera.
There are so many more important things
to do there, you know. The cast of "The
Palace of Darkened Windows" follows:
Arlee — Claire Anderson; The Rajah — Arthur
Carew; Billy Hill — Jay Belasco; Azade —
Christine Mayo; Captain Falconer — Gerald
Pring; Eva Ever sham — Adjle Farrington. _,

Joseph D. U. — Julia Marlowe has never
appeared in pictures. Her husband, E.
H. Sothern, made some photoplays for
Yitagraph several years ago: "If I Were
King" and "The Chattel."

Blue Eyes. — You and Mollie King.
Yep — Miss King, or Mrs. Kenneth Alex-
ander— is now singing and dancing on
Broadway in a musical comedy called
"Blue Eyes." The music for it, by the
way, was written by Carmel Myers' young
husband, I. N. Kornblum.

Charles P. U., Utah. — So you met
Billie Burke's sister and she offered to in-
troduce you to Billie Ziegfeld and also to
get you a pass for the Follies. I'm so sorry
to disillusion you, old dear, but you see
the fact of the matter is, Billie Burke has
no sister. Perhaps, someday, some kind
soul will indeed present you to Miss Burke,
but I'm afraid you'll have to worry along
without that pass to the Follies.

Barbara. — Dorothy Dalton and Lew
Cody have not married again — each other,
or anybody else. Miss Dalton is working
now in Cecil deMille's new production.
She has the leading role while Mildred
Harris appears in support. Conrad Nagel
is leading man. Dorothy Dalton probably
hasn't forgotten you — drop her a line at
the Laskv studios.

Miss F. S., AucklaxdJ N. Z.— Thanks
for your nobby note. I like to hear from
you. I hope you get a large framed photo-
graph from each of the following: Eugene
O'Brien, Selznick, Fort Lee, N. J.; Dorothy
Gish, Griffith, Mamaroneck, N. Y.; Billie
Burke and Mae Murray, Paramount
(eastern); Charles Ray, his own studio,
Hollywood, Cal.

Dolly DeVere. — Ah — you're the one
who dances on in the first act to say, "Girls —
Harold Heavyheart is here!" I really can't
recollect if I have ever seen you on the
stage. Which proves that I am ungallant,
but honest. Mary Fairbanks' name was
Smith before it was Pickford. She was
born in Toronto, Canada. Address the
three Talmadge girls at their own studio,
N. Y. C.^

Red of New York. — Never say dye
cannot be your motto. Natalie Talmadge
is not a star; she appears in her sisters' pro-
ductions occasionally. Wesley Barry is
thriteen years old. Gladys Walton was
born in 1904 and is five feet one inch tail.
The May issue of this Magazine contains
photographs of Renee Adoree, now Mrs.
Tom Moore. I doubt if Mrs. Moore will
ever be a film star — not because she lacks
the beauty or ability, but because her hus-
band said she wouldn't do any more pic-
tures. Harold L.loyd, Hal Roach studios.

Mary Louise. — Queer, but the com-
bination of yellow paper and purple ink
doesn't annoy me as much as it used to.
I suppose one may become accustomed to
anything. You say your mother wants you
to be a pianist, your father wants you to
write, your sister wants you to overcome
your temper, and your brother says you
have the makings of a great singer. You
will probably be a movie actress. Kather-
ine MacDonald has been extensively ad-
vertised as "The American Beauty."
Whether or not she is the most beautiful
woman in America I really couldn't say.
All I know is that Katherine is very, very
easy on my eyes. Elsie Ferguson in "Sa-
cred and Profane Love" and "Footlights."
Lila Lee, Lasky, Hollywood,

Betty M., Meadville, Pa. — Do I like
to smoke? Well — is that an invitation, or
are you merely compiling statistics? I do,
but rarely. Someone sent me a package

of Cigarettes (brand deleted).

I appreciate them, but I am not going to
smoke them. "Know Your Men" is a
Fox film with Pearl White. Ward Crane
is a leading man — unmarried. This kind
of leading man is very rare.

Virginia Anne. — I am sorry, but we
have no record of a Peggy Gilmore. If
Peggy is in our audience tonight, will she
please rise and give us her brief biography,
and present address?

Eleanor. — Could I call yours a weighty
question? Douglas Fairbanks tips the
scales at 166 pounds. Miss Lucy Cotton,
even when wearing her fur cape, makes
such a slight impression on the scales that
they register only 125. Miss Cotton makes
a much better impression on me.

M. P. L., Des Moines. — Rclf Armstrong
is not a movie star, my dear. He is the
artist-chap who paints Photoplay's come-
hither covers. Mr. Armstrong is the broth-
er of the late Paul Armstrong, the play-
wright, and accordingly the brother-in-
law of Catherine Calvert Armstrong.
Howard Hall opposite Pauline Frederick in
"The Hungry Heart." I hear that Miss
Frederick isn't going to return to the stage,
positively, for two years. She is receiving
something like $7,500 a week for her film
work, besides $6,000 for gowns for every
picture and two months' vacation with
pay every year. That's what I call a
situation.

Josephine. — How's Napoleon? (That's
very crude of me, I will admit. But I
have just seen "The Cabinet of Dr. Cali-
gari," and am suspicious of everybody.)
Thomas Meighan played with Mary Pick-
ford in "M'Liss." Tommy is married to
Frances Ring. You say you want to see
his wife in pictures. I'll speak to her about
it.

Mae A. W., Maine. — I do not know the
size of Mr. Arbuckle's shoes. I suggest
that you write to Roscoe yourself — care
the Lasky studio. Read Mr. Arbuckle's
fashion hints in the August issue.

Questions and Answers

(Continued)

Hazel.— It's hard to believe. You say
you are always outspoken in your senti-
ments. I have many correspondents but
not one of them has ever outspoken you.
Now, now — of course I don't mean that.
Kenneth Harlan in "The Microbe," "Les-
sons in Love" and "Mama's Affair."
Charles Ray uses his own name.

Doubtful Dick. — It would be entirely
proper for you to write to Mildred Davis
care the Harold Lloyd company requesting
her photograph. I even venture to say
that Mildred will answer you. Class in
etiquette adjourned

Oh, Yes, I do Remember!

By JORDON ROBINSON

OH, yes, I do remember, dear,
The rendezvous we kept —
In Yonder moonlit garden, dear,
When pale narcissus slept.

And I remember too when you

Confessed your love for me —

In yonder moonlit garden; True

The script said it should be!

Oh, darn directors — authors too!

The plot will break my heart —
What's one poor actor going to do

If held within his part!

D. M. S., Baltimore. — Mary Pickford
is working now. The trip to Mexico has
been postponed indefinitely — so has the
world tour. The new Pickford picture will
be "Little Lord Fauntleroy" with Mary
playing the boy and Dearie, his mother.
Shirley Mason has brown hair — bobbed —
and light grey eyes, lashes au naturel.

Dorothy. — You want to know Dorothy
DeVore's telephone number. I can't give
it to you, but I can tell you that Miss
DeVore may be addressed care the Christie
studios in Los Angeles, where she works
every day — when she isn't being "loaned"
to some dramatic company. She is not
married.

Marie P. O. — I am Job's understudy,
Marie. I may get a little sarcastic at times,
but you can't blame me for that. Wallace
Reid and Monte Blue were both born in
1890, Viola Dana in 1898 and Constance
Talmadge one year later. All are married-
Miss Dana is the widow of John Collins.

Maine Fan. — There aren't so many film
stars who hail from your state. However,
you can be proud of one native son. Lew
Cody comes from Waterville. Wanda
Hawley is married; she was born in 1897.
Emory Johnson, Lasky. Bebe Daniels in
"Ducks and Drakes." Have no record of
Wallace Reid having lived in Detroit.

George B., Chicago. — No, I don't
get so many letters from Chicago. Only
about one hundred a week. I haven't been
in the Windy City for two years so you
can't have seen me walking down Michigan
Blvd. Sorry to disappoint you. Frank-
lyn Farnum is not related to Bill and Dustin
Farnum, for the simple reason that Frank-
lyn's name is not really Farnum at all.
It's Smith. He was in musical comedy be-
fore coming to the cinema. (Alliteration at
any cost.) "The Avenging Arrow" is
Ruth Roland's Pathe serial. Harold Lloyd
was born in Nebraska in 1893. He isn't
married to Bebe Daniels or Mildred Davis.
He isn't married to anyone.

Mary Alice. — Very pink and very pretty
— your paper, and your picture. I hope
the latter color, at least, is genuine. Noth-
ing but addresses? That's all right. Viola
Dana and Jack Mulhall, Metro. Bebe
Daniels, Lasky. Edith Johnson and Wil-
liam Duncan, western Vitagraph. Lillian
and Dorothy Gish, Griffith.

Zelda. — The only professional I know
who bears your name is Zelda Sears, a
legitimate actress and writer. There are
no film stars called that. Zasu Pitts comes
the nearest. Olive Thomas died of acci-
dental poisoning in Paris. Mae Murray
has her own company, directed by her hus-
band Robert Leonard. Agnes Ayres in
"The Furnace," "The Love Special" and
"Forbidden Fruit." Webster Campbell
with Elaine Hammerstein in "Pleasure
Seekers."

The Gold-dust Twins. — You only re-
member me, I fear, when you want informa-
tion about Wally. This time: where is his
studio? His studio is the Lasky, in Holly-
wood, on sleepy pepper-shaded Vine Street.
Here is the cast of "A Tale of Two Cities":
Charles Darney, Sidney Carton — William
Farnum; Lucie Manette — Jewel Carmen;
Marquis St. Evremonde — Charles Clary,
Jacques De Farge — Herschel Mayall; Mme.
De Farge — Rosita Marstini; Dr. Alexandre
Manette — Joseph Swickard; Roger Cly —
Ralph Lewis; Gabelle — William Clifford;
Jarvis Lorry — Marc Robbins. Of these
actors, Farnum is still making features for
Fox; Jewel Carmen's latest is "The Silver
Lining"; Joseph Swickard gives an excel-
lent performance of Marcelo Desnoyers in
"The Four Horsemen."

E. E., Java. — You certainly selected an
old one. But it takes a long time for films
to reach you, doesn't it? The cast of
"Beatrice Fairfax" follows: Jimmy Barton.
— Harry Fox; Beatrice Fairfax — Grace
Darling; Jane Hamlin — Betty Howe; Clay-
ton Boyd — Nigel Barrie; Rita Malone —
Olive Thomas; Madeline Grey — Mae Hop-
kins. I believe this was the first screen
appearance of the late Olive Thomas, who
eventually won great success in the films.

ViOLA Admirer. — There are a good many
of you, too. Miss Dana was born in 1898.
She is a sister of Shirley Mason of Fox.
Gareth Hughes was born in 1897 and is
now with Metro. He played with Viola
Dana in "A Chorus Girl's Romance,"
which was the film title of F. Scott Fitz-
gerald's short story, " Head and Shoulders. "

M. L. N., Boston. — Oh, you can safely
trust your letter to First National — they
will forward it to Marguerite Clark. And
don't be afraid of losing your quarter;
they will see that Miss Clark gets that, too.

L. S., Whitehall, N. Y. — You are, to
use the vernacular, out of luck. Earle
Williams, Bert Lytell and Conrad Nagel
are all married. Mr. Williams, Vitagraph;
Lytell, Metro, and Nagel, Lasky. Mar-
garet Loomis in "The Sins of St. Anthony. "
Shirley Mason in "The Lamp Lighter."
Address her Fox studio, Hollywood, Cal.

D. F., Pensacola, Fla. — You say your
regard for me is like unto the deep blue sea.
I have always taken whatever you tell me
with several grains of salt. Virginia Lee
Corbin is eight years old; she is now on the
stage — vaudeville, I believe. Dore David-
son was the father in "Humoresque. '
Frank Borzage, who directed that fine film,
is now making "Get-Rich-Quick Walling-
ford," for Cosmopolitan-Paramount. Wil-
liam H. Strauss in "The North Wind's
Malice." {Continued on page 112)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Inlays and Jp/ayers

When they told Charles Chaplin that he was engaged to May Collins, pretty
little film ingenue, he merely murmured, "I wonder what Miss Collins will say
when she hears about it?" In spite of all the rumors. May and Charlie are still
single. You remember Chaplin, not so long ago, was saying Never again!
in reference to matrimony.

,»'

CONSTANCE TALMADGE was seen
walking down Fifth Avenue with
a diamond circlet clasping her dainty-
ankle. Her husband was with her.

MAY McAVOY is the young lady who,
it seems, most all of motion picture
New York is talking about right now.

May made rather a sensational success in
"Sentimental Tommy," to which she
brought, in the role of Grizel, a quaint
charm that has never been seen on the
screen before. She is, in her celluloid
personation, playing a long run on Broad-
way. Not very many blocks away "The
Passion Flower" was holding forth recently.
A young man who acts in it is named Bobby
Agnew. And it wouldn't surprise anybody
to hear that May and Bobby were to be
married soon. They deny that they are
engaged, but then, so did Dorothy and
James Rennie, and Doris May and Wallace

MacDonald, and a few others,
know what happened to them.

And you

AS a result of the threatened censorship
bill, David Wark Griffith has given up
his production of "Faust," which he in-
tended to produce abroad with John Barry-
more in the principal role. Mr. Griffith
quite naturally assumed that if the bill
were passed it would be necessary to have
Faust and Marguerite united in a little
home wedding in the garden, probably with
Mephisto as best man. It is actually true
that an Indian wedding has been introduced
into the screen production of Kipling's
"Without Benefit of Clergy" to make
everything as correct and cosy as possible.

SINCE the rumor has spread so persist-
ently, that Nazimova designs her gowns
by performing Isadora Duncan dances clad
considerably like Mother Eve before the

Real news and in-
teresting comment
about motion pic-
tures and motion
picture people.

By
CAL. YORK

mirrors of the wardrobe department —
catching inspiration, no doubt — the Metro
wardrobe department has had to order a
new chain padlock.

ALTHOUGH it may be a trifle prema-
ture— since Mildred Harris' divorce
decree isn't yet final — little birds and little
rumors are certainly flying busily around
Hollywood these days announcing that
Charlie Chaplin is to wed again as soon as
it is legally possible.

The lady in the case is pretty little May-
Collins, a seventeen - year - old leading
woman who recently- came from New York
to play with Emerson-Loos and now with
Goldwyn. She's an attractive little girl
and is said to have a lot of ability.

The announcement of the engagement
has been published in two or three of the
Los Angeles papers, and while neither Mr.
Chaplin nor Miss Collins would confirm
the report, neither denied it.

I saw them dining together the other
evening at the Maison Marcell in Los
Angeles, with Florence Deshon and a gray-
haired man. And it certainly- had all the
earmarks of a happy evening fcr Charlie
and his pretty partner. They danced as
devotedly- and smilingly as a couple of
high school kids.

Dear me! That same evening I saw Bill
Hart and little Eva Novak in a corner,
chaperoned by BLTs sister, Miss Mary-
Hart. Eva had Bill dancing about like a
two-year-old and he seemed to like It.

I never can tell these Novak girls apart,
but it's Jane that Bill is supposed to be
engaged to. So maybe it was Jane. Or
maybe Jane is away and little sister's
looking after Bill.

In the opposite corner were Tom Moore
and his new bride — pretty Renee Adoree —
sitting very close on the wall seat and actu-
ally holding hands under the table. I hope
that won't have any effect on the other
couples.

REX INGRAM, who scored so mag-
nificently with the "Four Horsemen"
is now shooting a story by Balzac.

According to the young director, he
tried very hard to get them to let him film
this story when he was at another studio.
"Who's Balzac?" demanded the powers
that be. "Has he had any screen experi-
ence? How much does he want for it?"

"Nothing," said Ingram.

"Then don't take it. It can't be any-
good if you can get it for nothing, " was
the final word from G. H. Q.

Alice Terry, leading woman in the
"Four Horsemen," is also playing the
leading feminine role in this production.
But she doesn't like it.

" I have too much to do," says Alice.
{Continued on page 76)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued from page 74)

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Every kid in the country would be glad to change places with Carter de Haven,
Jr. He employed — for half a day anyhow — the highest-salaried chauffeur in
the world. A free ride to any little boy who guesses the identity of the wavy-
haired gentleman at the wheel.

By the way, a little bird whispers that
announcement of an engagement of longer
duration than any picture contract is soon
to be forthcoming between Rex Ingram
and pretty Miss Terry.

Well, nothing could surprise us less.

NORMA TALMADGE said she wanted
to meet all the newspaper women in
New York. So her press agent sent out
invitations to a tea in Norma's apartments
at the Saint Regis Hotel. The newspaper
women — some three hundred of them —
arrived in full force, only to learn that their
hostess was in bed. But that didn't spoil
the party. Norma received a la empress,
attired in the very latest lingerie. Sister
Natalie swung a wicked cocktail shaker.
Mother Peg presided. And a good time
was had by all. You simply can't help
writing sweet things about a star when she
goes to all that trouble, can you? Appar-
ently not.

THE Pageant of Nations held on March
28th at the Ambassador Hotel for the
benefit of the Los Angeles Children's Hos-
pital was a stunning and altogether marvel-
lous affair and a lot of our greatest motion
picture stars appeared to excellent ad-
vantage.

What in the world do they do about
benefits where they haven't a host of beau-
tiful and famous movie celebrities to act not
only as drawing cards but as the mainstay
of every attraction? Although the pageant
for charity was conducted by the society
matrons in charge of the hospital, it's a
cinch it couldn't have netted the §15,000
totalled at the gate receipts without the
motion picture people's aid.

The pageant consisted of separate tab-
leaux representing certain characteristic
and beautiful ceremonies or events in the
history of different nations.

The great ballroom was packed with a
mob of fashionables and picture people, and
the applause was uproarious.

The sensation of the evening, so far as
can be judged from the actions of the audi-

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

ence, was Betty Blythe, who appeared as
Cleopatra, in the English period, presenting
the famous siren of the Nile as written by
William Shakespeare. Betty wore one of
her Queen of Sheba costumes reconstructed
to suit the period, and when she glided on
the stage, its few diaphanous folds of lace
held about her by a diamond brooch, there
was so much excitement I thought they'd
have to call out the reserves.

The disappointment of the evening came
when, for the ball following the pageant,
Betty went and arrayed herself in an eve-
ning gown, which while not exactly puri-
tanical itself, still had a lot on Cleo. In-
cidentally, Betty called me up at 2 o'clock
that morning to ask me if I thought her
gown immodest.

"Well," I said, "it was beautiful and
you looked gorgeous, but if Cleopatra went
around like that it's no wonder she got into
trouble. "

"Heavens," said Betty, "I didn't mean
the costume! I meant my ball gown. The
costume was art — I don't ever think about
that."

Mary Miles Minter was Juliet. Mary is a
sweet little girl and she looked like a spun
sugar valentine, but she came about as near
my idea of the Italian, passionate; emotion-
al young lady who allowed Romeo to climb
into her balcony the night after she met
him, as a china doll. But then, I remember
Julia Marlowe as Juliet.

The palm for beauty of the evening went,
according to popular opinion, to Agnes
Ayres, who appeared as a Russian bride.
Walking down the long aisle in the middle
of the ballroom, with a perfect glory of ex-
quisite lighting behind her robes of white
and silver and pearl, she was exquisite.
She even had a sort of bridal expectancy on
her face, if you know what I mean.

Elinor Glyn appeared in the French
period as Empress Josephine, and gave the
tensely interested audience a portrayal of
that noble lady correct in every detail of
dress, character and demeanor. She looked
as regal as possible in her white satin and
emeralds, but I've a large-sized notion that

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)
Napoleon would never have divorced her.
She looked a match for any man. Inci-
dentally, T. Daniel Frawley, who has so
often successfully portrayed the famous
conqueror, was Napoleon.

The minuet in the French period was
altogether charming. It was exquisitely
done and May Allison, as a Wat tea u Shep-
herdess, conducted through the mazes of
that stately dance by Herbert Rawlinson,
was a delight that caused repeated mur-
murs of approval from the throng. Mrs.
William Desmond was also in this number,
with her pretty curls down her back, and
Mary MacLaren completed the blonde trio.
I forget the other men.

Gloria Swanson was something or other
Chinese, whether a goddess or empress I
couldn't quite make out. Anyway, she was
perfectly marvellous, though I thought the
magnificence of the costume and the amount
of the decorations she had to wear over-
shadowed her own bizarre type a bit.

After the pageant — of course there were
lots more people in it, but it's just impossible
to tell you about them all — everybody
danced in the big ball room, and had a
wonderful time.

It was quite a get-together occasion, too,
between the social register, as it were, and
the blue book of filmdom. Rehearsals were
held in the homes of some of the leaders of
the 400, and the whole thing proved a
cementing tie between the two interests in
the Los Angeles and Hollywood colonies.

It is to be hoped that the society leaders
are duly grateful to the film folk, who after
working all day in the studios, were willing
to rehearse three nights out of the week
and tend to their own costumes to aid such
a worthy charity.

ONE of the leading actors in Yon Gtro-
heim's latest production, died in the
middle of the picture.
Possibly from old age.

CECIL B. DeMILLE and Mildred
Harris met for the first time this week
as director and actor.
Thusly goes the tale:

FreulicJl

It is only an additional distinction of
Marcella Pershing that she is a
cousin of the General. Even if she
weren t. Hoot Gibson's new leading
woman would be worth seeing.

Glacier

national park

June 15 to September 15

The wild Rockies are intimately yours in Glacier National Park.
Nowhere else in America are they so accessible, so friendly. Nature
has massed here a wondrous display >of »azure lakes, glistening
glaciers and snow-tipped peaks, the grandeur that furnished Marshall
Neilan with the scenic background for "Bob Hampton of Placer."

Modern hotels and Swiss chalets offer best accommodations. Tours via
motor, saddle-horse and launch arranged by day, week or month. En
route to North Pacific Coast, Alaska, or California, visit Lake Chelan,
Mt. Rainier and Crater Lake National Parks. "Glacier" is your only
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June 1 to September 15. Summer Tourist fares to North Pacific Coast
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Send for Glacier Park Literature

A.J. DICKINSON

Passenger Traffic Manager

GREAT NORTHERN

RAILWAY
St. Paul, Minnesota

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roPLAY Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)

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Little Richard Headnck gave an unsuspecting tourist the surprise of his life
recently. Strolling through a Los Angeles park the tourist was startled by a
wild cry from a nearby lagoon. He rushed to the spot, saw a child of three
floundering in the water, and jumped in. As he struggled to shore with the
struggling youngster safely in tow, he was greeted with : "You big boob — you
spoiled our picture! Besides, that boy can swim better than you can! Richard
is a swimming champion and one of our most promising young actors.

Mr. deMille called a meeting of the caste
and the technical men, designers, writers,
etc., in his office at eleven o'clock for the
purpose of reading the script to them.

At eleven o'clock everyone was there,
except Miss Harris.

Mr. deMille waited patiently for ten
minutes, impatiently for another ten, and
riotously for fifteen.

A telephone call to the lady's home
elicited the information that the actress
had left.

At 11:46 Miss Harris, bright and smiling,
walked in.

Everything was very quiet. Mr. deMille
slipped his cuff over his wrist watch and
sat down. He motioned Miss Harris to a
seat opposite him. Then, very politely he
spake as follows:

"Miss Harris, for eight years, I have

been directing motion picture stars — some
great, some small. In those eight years,
you are the first person who has ever dared
to be late for a call of mine.

"You now owe me, and all these gentle-
men and ladies whom you have kept wait-
ing for forty-six minutes, a public and an
abject apology. Your time may not be
valuable. Ours is. "

" I ran out of gasoline, " said Miss Harris,
wiping a tear from her nose.

"Start so if you wreck the car you will
have time to call a taxi, " said Mr. deMille.
"Because in order that this may never,
never happen again, it will cost you exactly
ten dollars a minute, for every minute you
are late to a call of mine. You would owe
me just $460 for this affair this morning."

And then some people say motion pictures
are unbusiness-like!

Every advertisement in PHOTOrLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)

"DEN HUR" has been bought, at last,
.D and not by Griffith.

The gentlemen who believe sufficiently
in "Ben Hur's" drawing powers have con-
tributed §1,000,000 and bought the darn
thing.

The gentlemen are the Messrs. Florenz
Ziegfeld, Jr., A: L. Erlanger, and Charles
B. Dillingham, all theatrical magnates.
Which also means that "Ben Hur" will be
a photoplay soon.

DORIS MAY set May 1st as the date of
her wedding to Wallace MacDonald.
It was to be a regular church affair, with
orange blossoms, lace veils and bridesmaids,
we understand.

THE cinema stork has announced a per-
sonal appearance at Beverly Hills,
sometime in July, at the home of Enid
Bennett and Fred Niblo.

The Niblos have been married four years.
After this interesting event, Miss Bennett
plans to return to the screen with her own
organization.

KING and Florence Vidor, when they
finally established a California home,
brought from Texas some of the servants
that had long been in the family. Among
them came a small pickaninny, just a trifle
older than little two and-a-half year old
Suzanne Vidor.

According to the good old Southern
tradition, this youngster became a combina-
tion guardian and playmate for Suzanne.

One day, lovely Mrs. Vidor, leaning out
the window to watch the two in the pergola,
heard the following conversation:

Suzanne — "Mandy, I fink you're a much
prettier color 'an I am."

Mandy — "My goodness, honey, you
ain't any color a-tall. You're jes fat."

TWO pretty Hollywood movie actresses
met outside the Garden Court tearoom.
"My dear," said one, "I'm so happy,
today is my wedding anniversary."

"Which husband?" asked the other with
a guileless smile.

ALICE CALHOUN, in her new picture,
makes her social debut. For the
deb's party the Vitagraph company erected
a beautiful drawing room set and hired a
hundred extras.

According to the script, the debutante
comes into the room and is greeted effusive-
ly by the extras. This action was rehearsed
and the the camera began to grind. Sud-
denly Miss Calhoun's eyes focused on some-
one seated nearby among the supers.

She gasped, and ran off the set. The
director swore under his breath ; the camera-
man gaped.

For Alice had rushed to a girl and clasped
her in her arms. " Helen ! " she cried, as she
hugged the little extra, "wherever did you
come from?"

It seems that the extra, like the star, had
been born and raised in the same Middle-
western town. They had been playmates
and school chums but had not seen each
other for four or five years until they met
on the Vitagraph set.

And what's a few feet of film between
friends?

THE May issue of Photoplay contained
a story about the marriage of Tom
Moore and Renee Adoree. Among the
guests at the wedding breakfast were men-
tioned Mr. and Mrs. Cedric Gibbons. In-
asmuch as there is no Mrs. Gibbons, the
article caused Mr. Gibbons some annoy-
ance. We are glad to correct it.
{Continued on page 100)

A 3000-year-old pleasure
for you to enjoy

Around the most simple facts of liv-
ing, the ancients threw all the subtle
pleasures which their minds could
devise.

They understood, too, as every one
in the East understands today, the
restfulness of sweet odors, the refresh-
ment which comes from delicate per-

Do you know the
refresh men t of Incense ?

They knew incense, as you can know
it today. For tonight, in your recep-
tion room, in your halls, in your bou-
doir, there can arise the subtle and
delicate perfumes of the Orient —
the same graceful fragrance which
is arising in millions of homes
throughout the world.

Vantine's — the true
Oriental Incense

Burn incense, but be sure
that you get Vantine's. It's
very easy to make a mistake
about so subtle a thing as

All the sweet deli-
cacy of Wistaria Blos-
soms is imprisoned in
Vantine's Wistaria
Toilet Water.

incense, but if you use the name,
Vantine's, as your guide, you have
the experience of 6o years' knowledge
of the Orient guiding you to the true
Oriental fragrance.

Which do you prefer ?

Vantine's Temple Incense comes in
five delicate fragrances — Sandalwood,
Wistaria, Rose, Violet and Pine. Some
like the rich Oriental fullness of San-
dalwood, others choose the sweetness
of Wistaria, Rose or Violet and still
others prefer the clear and balmy
fragrance of Pine.

Whichever you prefer, you can get
it from your druggist or your gift
shop. Practically every department
store, too, carries it, so swift has
been its spread throughoutAmerica.

So try, tonight, the fragrance
which appeals the most to
you. Just name it on the
margin and for 25c we will
be glad to send it to you as
an acquaintance package.

VANTINE'S Temple Incense is sold at drug stores,
department stores and gift shops in two forms — powder
and cone — in packages at 2$c — ^oc and J$c.

f Temple /

ncense

Sandalwood

T„ , Wistaria
Violet

„ Pine

Rose

A A. VANTINE & CO.

64 Hunterspoint Avenue
Lung Island City, N.Y.
I enclose 25c for the Introductory Pack
age of Vantine's Temple Incense.

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

80 Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Cleans Closet Bowls Without Scouring

Sani-Flush was made for just
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other means and to clean it with
less labor. Sprinkle a little Sani-
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the directions on the can. Flush.
Stains, rust marks and incrusta-
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lessly white and absolutely sanitary.

You do not have to use disin-
fectants because Sani-Flush cleans
thoroughly.

The Hygienic Products Co., Canton, O.

Canadian Agents:
Harold F. Ritchie & Co., Ltd., Toronto

Sani-Flush is sold at grocery,
drug, hardware, plumbing,
and house-furnishing stores.
If you cannot buy it locally
at once, send 25c in coin or
stamps for a full sized can
postpaid. (Canadian price,
35c; foreign price, 50c.)

*8wJWWl^W%ftA/WV,i«SAr.VWbVY%AAfVV&

Add Pop Corn

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KINGERY

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Sizes and styles for all classes of trade —
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Add Pop-corn and Add Profit. Free
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You can he quickly cured, if you

f Send 10 cents for 288 -page book on Stammering and
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3656 Bogue Bids., 1147 N. III. St., Indianapolis.

Benj. B. Hampton in His Hollywood office.

Cattar Lattan, U. S. A.

The truth about movie morals and
manners in Holly wood.

By
BENJ. B. HAMPTON

IN the good old days before the Hohen-
zollern family threw a monkey wrench
into the world's machinery, every really
good American cherished a desire to go to
Paris and see the Latin Quarter. And
many good Americans went.

Some of them thought they got their
money's worth, and others decided that the
Bal Rullier was composed of servant girls,
cab drivers and wine agents. But all of
them in their struggles with the French
language on its native heath compromised
by calling the Quarter Latin the " C-a-t-t-a-r
L-a-t-t-a-n.' '

"Cattar Lattan!" What a rude shock
it was to learn that the Latin Quarter was
not a place but an attitude of mind. If
one went across the Seine in the proper
mental condition perhaps he found the
Cattar Lattan of Du Maurier's novel
"Trilby" — and perhaps now if he wanders
into Hollywood he may find the Cattar
Lattan of the U. S. A.

California sunshine will warm his blood.
Flowers, vines, green lawns, shrubbery
and semi-tropical trees form a setting to
homes more picturesque, more quaint and
more foreign than anything he has seen
elsewhere on our continent. Springtime
seems present always.

"Cattar Lattan, U. S. A." — Hollywood,
nestling under the foothills and lazily
looking across miles of meadows to the

Pacific. Hollywood, home of the movies,
capital of Studio Land, where every girl's
a picture star and every man's a hero. No
one there looks at a salary of less than a
thousand dollars a week. You know —
you've read all about it in newspapers and
magazines.

You are confident that Hollywood is
populated with romantic young gentlemen,
and bold, bad villains, and cowboys and
kitteny little blonde girls dressed in one-
piece bathing suits. And that all of them
are care-free Bohemians, earning heaps of
money easily and spending it with gay
abandon. Ah! for the life of Cattar Lattan!

And what happens to be the truth? Is
there a gay, Bohemian colony called Holly-
wood that rivals the famous Latin quarter
of Paris?

Gentle reader, there is not. Such a place
exists only in the minds of the writers who
flit into Los Angeles and try to compete
with painters in the use of colors. Holly-
wood— is most charming, most beautiful
and no one could find a more wholesome
spot in which to rear a brood of youngsters.
Everything is good: air, water, scenery,
schools, pavements, bungalows, mansions,
mountains and meadows, morals and man-
ners.

And Hollywood is the motion picture
capital of the world. From East Holly-
wood to the sea — a distance of fifteen or

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY' MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Cattar Lattan, U. S. A.

(Continued)

twenty miles — studio plants dot the land-
scape. Thousands of men, women and
children are employed in the industry.
They live in Hollywood, in Los Angeles and
in all the suburbs of Los Angeles.

When I say these things to the authors,
newspaper editors, and general run of old
friends from the East, they are surprised
and for a time incredulous. After I have
convinced them of the plain truth of movie
life, their invariable question is, "Well,
how do the picture people get such a repu-
tation?"

One important element in creating a
reputation for picture players is the moder-
ate size of Los Angeles. New York is so
vast that the individual is absorbed by the
mass Los Angeles, with its six hundred
thousand population, is still a metropolis
in which the individual exists as a human
being and is rrbt merely a cog in a vast social
machine.

Briefly, the motion picture people of
New York are lost in the vastness of the
six-million mob of the big town; in Los
Angeles the actresses and the actors are
constantly in the public eye. Thousands
of tourists throng to Los Angeles, who count
their journey a failure unless they see their
favorite players in every-day clothes as
they go about their every-day affairs dis-
guised as human beings.

So that always in Los Angeles the spot-
light of curiosity is focused on the movie
people. It is small wonder then that even
a glimpse of a famous player is desirable,
and that morsels of gossip are eagerly
rolled from tongue to tongue.

The actor folk have ever been a clannish,
independent social section. They have their
own code of morals and ethics. They have
been wanderers who have seldom or never
settled long enough in one place to call it
"home." In America, New York was for
years the center of their life, and there they
created their own social organizations and
groups and gave little thought to the society
life of the city.

Los Angeles has become the home of a
great player population in half a dozen
years, a brief period in which to absorb a
large number of such colorful folks as
movie makers, and it is not surprising that
neither Los Angeles nor the picture people
have quite found themselves.

Los Angeles seizes upon each tidbit of
movie gossip — but also, Los Angeles is
proud in tellintr of *i^« -u '

How I Earned $200 in
My Summer Vacation

A personal experience

By CORA LIVINGSTONE
1 108 Fell Avenue, Bloomington, 111.

LAST spring I was asking myself the question:
"Isn't there some way I can earn or save
-* more money?" It had concerned me each year
as summer approached, but last April I discovered
such an easy, practical and delightful way to increase
both my earnings and my savings, without inter-
fering at all with my regular work, that I want
other women and girls to know about it, too.

From girlhood, I had always wanted to be able
to plan and make pretty, becoming clothes. But I
became a school teacher and never learned the
things about dress that I wanted so much to know.

I thoroughly enjoyed teaching and was devoted to
my work, but two things about it were problems —
first, there was the long unsalaried summer, when I
spent a good part of my year's salary. Second,
a teacher simply must be well dressed and I found
good ready-to-wear clothes were so expensive that the
rest of my income was needed to keep me presentable.

You can understand my interest, therefore, when
I heard last spring of the wonderful success of
women and girls in learning dressmaking in spare
time, at home, through the Woman's Institute. When
I stopped to think what it would mean to me if I
could make all kinds of dainty, becoming clothes
for myself at substantial savings, and could earn
money sewing for other people besides, I seized the
opportunity at once and became a member.

I received my first lessons in April and the en-
thusiasm and confidence I gained through only two
months' study, April and May, led me to volunteer
to sew for other people. When my school closed,
I told everyone that I planned to sew all summer
and would devote some time to outside work.

To my astonishment, work came in so fast al-
most at once that I was really frightened at the
amount brought to me. A bride-to-be brought me
three silk dresses and a white wash dress, and said
they must be completed by July 1st, as she was
going to Colorado on her honeymoon. I began her
wedding dress one day at noon.

One woman brought me materials for four dresses
for herself and three daughters and left the entire
planning of the dresses to me. When I had worked
out the patterns and gave her my ideas for
the color schemes she said: "Yes, I like
them all very much. It is a delight to
find someone who can plan our clothes."
I was really amazed to see how eager
people are to patronize the kind of dress-
makers who can help them plan their
garments.

I began my sewing for other people in
June and during June, July and August I
earned $200, beside making my own doth
in» qnd t\*?lt

distinctive and more satisfactory in every way than
they would be had I bought them in the shops.

My studies have been a pleasure and an inspira-
tion. Much of the drudgery of life is merely un-
certainty. When we know how a thing should be
done and why, tasks become pleasures. That is
what the Woman's Institute is doing for its students
— transforming tasks into pleasures. My course has
given me ample proof that any woman can learn
through the Woman's Institute how to clothe her-
self at a mere fraction of what her clothes would
cost if bought in the regular way, and how to make
money sewing for other people besides.

As I think of it now, I have not only learned to
make all my own clothes at a saving of $100 or more
each year, but I really now have two professions. I
can make a good income during summer vacations
and I can take up dressmaking as a business the year
round and have a shop of my own if I ever want to
leave my teaching. And I have learned all this in
spare time right at home.

Yes, I consider the money I spent on my
Woman's Institute course the very best investment
I ever made.

More than 100,000 women and girls in city, town,
and country have proved that you can easily and
quickly learn through the Woman's In-
stitute, in your own home during spare
time, to make stylish, becoming clothes
and hats for yourself, your family, and
others, at less than half their usual cost.

It makes no difference where you live,
because all the instruction is carried on
by mail and it is no disadvantage if you
are employed during the day, or have
household duties that ocrunv most of your

Prohibition closed out this group of joy
palaces and nowadays the scandal-seekers
search hard for news to take back home.
The real character of the picture people is
slowly coming into public recognition. Los
Angeles society has learned that it must dis-
tinguish between individuals in the pic-
tures group as society everywhere dis-
tinguishes between individuals in every
group. The morals of the players are no bet-
ter and no worse than the morals of the
"high society" group of Los Angeles or
New York or Chicago or Boston or other
large cities.

If there is any difference the balance is in
favor of the picture people, for late hours
and bad habits are quickly and remorseless-
ly registered by the camera, and the girl or
young man that regards "life as one long
party" soon finds his or her own earning
power decreasing.

The great majority of motion picture
players are hard-working, intelligent, de-
cent people. A small minority is bad.
This minority is careless of public opinion.
These careless people conduct their affairs
openly and brazenly and give the entire
colony a reputation that is false and unfair.

Then, too, every loose individual, male
or female, that has ever seen a day's work
on a studio lot enters claim to the occupa-
tion of "motion picture player." "An
analysis of the Los Angeles newspapers
during a year will substantiate the state-
ment that the doubtful women of this com-
munity fly to the title of "motion picture
actress" whenever trouble appears in the
form of a policeman or newspaper reporter.
Not only do women of this class slander
the movie profession by hiding behind it,
but men do the same thing.

Thus is reputation created. The facts
are that during three years of my observa-
tion in Los Angeles I do not recall one case
in which one motion picture star has been
involved in one of the criminal or suicide or
scandalous investigations of that period.
Yet the movie profession is tried and found
guilty in newspaper scareheads!

I have before me copies of two Los
Angeles newspapers of the same date. One
newspaper, on the front page, declares
in wood type two and one-half inches high:

L. A. FILM BEAUTY POISONED

TRAGIC PLOT PROVED AS SCREEN

FAVORITE IS DISCOVERED

DRUGGED

Cattar Lattan, U. S. A.

{Concluded)

Beautiful widely

known as one of the rising stars in the
Los Angeles motion picture colony,
died suddenly today under mysterious
circumstances in San Francisco. The
police believe she may have been the
victim of a murder plot. Etc., etc.
The other newspaper says in large head-
lines:

L. A. FILM GIRL IN MYSTERY
DEATH.

Potion Fatal to Screen
Woman.

Police Baffled; Victim is
Reported to be Writer of Scenarios.

Three inches beneath these headlines,
in this same newspaper, in this same article,
is this paragraph in small type;

"A thorough canvass of the motion
picture colony of this city failed to re-
veal that a Mrs was

ever associated with any of the Los
Angeles film companies."

Careful analysis of the situation will
prove my assertion that the "reputation"
of the film people is created chiefly by
newspaper headlines and not by the acts
of the players themselves. The eternal
exception to this rule is the "fast sets"
of moviedom, the careless, noisy minority
that is seldom vicious but is often unwise
to the point of silliness. No one cares for
the task of defending this minority — any
more than one would accept the burden of
defending the fast men and women who are
prominent in the business life and society
life of any large city. Well-known mer-
chants and professional men may move at
greater speed than the fast set of the pic-
ture colony, but the newspapers seldom or
never give space to their affairs.

A testimonial to the character of the
player colony is that it furnishes only a
small percentage of the grist for the divorce
mills. But note, please that when John
Smith, dry goods merchant, is divorced
by his wife, Mary Smith, who charges
various interesting things and proves them
to the court's satisfaction, the newspapers
give the case reasonable attention. But
when Sarah Jones, motion picture actress,
and William Jones, her husband, decide

that Sarah is entitled to a divorce, and
proper legal machinery is set into motion,
the newspapers shriek and scream with all
the gorgeous wood-type in their composing
rooms.

Sarah makes no sensational charges
against William, yet being movie stars,
their affairs must be exploited to the limit.
A sensation must be created.

Presto! Ah! We have it! Sarah has
taken a residence in another state! Of
course, fifty thousand other women have
done exactly the same thing, in precisely
the same manner in the same state — but
they were not picture stars.

The courts grind along. Sarah is finally
granted her divorce. Long after the dry
goods merchant has passed into obscurity,
Sarah and William are kept in newspaper
scare-heads.

Then Sarah does the most hideously
monstrous thing on record — she marries an-
other man.

It happens that Sarah is a lovable,
wholesome woman and that Henry, her
new husband, is an artist, a gentleman, and,
as he has proven — a statesman. Incidental-
ly it happens that Sarah and Henry love
each other with a devotion that inspires
every member of the film colony.

No matter — they are picture players.
The wood-type batteries and the slander-
slingers leap into action, and all over Amer-
ica people shudder for months because a
pair of clean, fine human beings have be-
come married, have obeyed the laws of
society and have given the world a little
push toward a higher plane.

I am glad to add that Sarah and Henry
are living through their uncomfortable
experience. They are building a home
way out in quiet Hollywood. It's a new
and thrilling experience for player folks
to build homes — an event that can never be
appreciated by any one who has not spent
a lifetime in hotel bedrooms. To have
four walls around one, to have a roof over
one's head, and lawn and flowers and a
garden. To know that this is home — our
home — well, dear citizens of this great re-
public, you can't understand it unless you
have been a bird of passage yourself.

Hundreds of actors' homes have been
built in Hollywood. More are being con-
tracted for each week. And you'd be sur-
prised to know that the first instruction
given to every architect is to plan a model
nursery.

'Absence Can Not
Hearts Divide"

Beautif - LL

The shaded lights can not conceal her wondrous
beauty. Her vivid smile, her flashing eyes, are accentu-
ated by the soft, beautiful coloring of her cheeks. She
wins the admiration of all who see her. And why
shouldn't she ? She knows and uses the complete
"Pompeian Beauty Toilette."

First, a touch of fragrant Pompeian DAY Cream (vanishing). It
softens the skin and holds the powder. Then apply Pompeian
BEAUTY Powder. It makes the skin beautifully fair and adds the
charm of delicate fragrance. Now a touch of Pompeian BLOOM
for youthful color. Do you know that a bit of color in the cheeks
makes the eyes sparkle with a new beauty? Presto! The face is
beautified and youth-i-fied in an instant! (Above 3 preparations
may be used separately or together. At all druggists, 60c each.)

TRY NEW POWDER SHADES. The correct powder shade
is more important than the color of dress you wear. Our new
NATURELLE shade is a more delicate tone than our Flesh shade,
and blends exquisitely with a medium complexion. Our new
RACHEL shade is a rich cream tone for brunettes. See offer
on coupon.

Pompeian BEAUTY Powder — naturelle, rachel, flesh, white.
Pompeian BLOOM — light, dark, medium. Pompeian MASSAGE
Cream (60c), for oily skins; Pompeian NIGHT Cream (50c), for
dry skins; Pompeian FRAGRANCE (30c), a talcum with a real
perfume odor.

Marguerite Clark Art Panel — 5 Samples Sent With It

"Absence Can Not Hearts Divide." In daintv colors. Si:e,
28 x 7*4 inches. Price, 10c. Samples of Pompeian Day Cream,
Powder and Bloom, Night Cream and Fragrance (a talcum pow-
der) sent with the Art Panel. With these samples you can make
many interesting beauty experiments. Please tear offcoupon now.

THE POMPEIAN CO., 2131 Payne Avenue, Cleveland, Ohio

Also Made in Canada

GUARANTEE

The name Pompeian on any package is your
guarantee of quality and safety. Should you
not be completely satisfied, the purchase price
will be gladly refunded by The Pompeian Com-
pany, at Cleveland, Ohio.

TEAR OFF NOW

To mail or for Pompeian shopping-hint in purse.

I " -

| THE POMPEIAN COMPANY

i 2131 Payne Avenue, Cleveland, Ohio

. Gentlemen: I enclose a dime for the 1921 Marguerite

I Clark Panel. Also please send the 5 samples.

I Nan

| City-

Hacarcllu anaae powaer sent unless you write another below

Olive Oil
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' I 'HIS is YOUR Department. Jump right in with your contribution.
•*■ What have you seen, in the past month, that was stupid, unlife-
like, ridiculous or merely incongruous? Do not generalize; confine your
remarks to specific instances of absurdities in pictures you have seen.
Your observation will be listed among the indictments of carelessness on
the part of the actor, author or director.

Reasonable, What?

WILLIAM FARNUM'S father, in "The Orphan," is hanged
by a man with a ferocious black beard. Little William
is only four years old at the time. "The Orphan" grows to
matured manhood and seeks for the blood of his father's execu-
tioner. He finds him looking ten years younger than when he
did the lynching and looking a decade more youthful than
William himself. Critic, Pittsburgh.

An Extraordinary Case

THE General in "The Furnace" has a bad temper and a
liver on the same order. He appears entering his library
supported by a servant and, holding his left side, sinks into
a chair. Later, in a fit of indignation, he attempts to rise
but sinks back holding his right side. And he intermittently
holds his right and then his left side during the entire picture.

R. F. F., New York City.

Perhaps He Ate 'Em

CHARLES RAY in "The 01' Swimmin* Hole," is shown
standing in front of his girl's house with his shirt bulging
with stolen apples. A
close-up is shown and
his shirt is empty.
What became of the
apples? R. Gordon,
Columbus, Ohio.

Your Guess Is as Good
as Any

THE hero and her-
oine of "Kazan"
are in a lonely cabin
far in the frozen north,
miles from any village.
The villain breaks a
pane of glass in a win-
dow to let in a lion to
devour the hero. The
next day the window
appears unbroken, with
no sign of having been
disturbed. Kindly tell
me if they have wan-
dering Esquimau gla-
ziers up there?
C. H.E., Covington, Ky.

BlancK
the Web,"
a snort cut across

carelessly along the ground. — E. C. S., Indianapolis. Ind.

Not at All Nautical

THE scenes in Eddie
Polo's serial, "King
of the Circus" which
were supposed to take
place somewhere on the
ocean, also show a sal-
mon cannery in the

background, while the cameraman's shadow grinds merrily on.
Nathan D. Reiss, Cleveland, Ohio.

This Is Too Much

T CONSIDER that I have a contribution worthy of your

-*■ department.

Incongruities on the screen are many and varied; but I find
more to complain of right in the audience. While watching a

popular star emote the other evening, I listened perforce to a
young couple reading the sub-titles in French, each two words
behind the other — for the first half of the picture. The other
half they occupied by looking over a photograph album which
they produced from somewhere.

Charles Hardy, Winnipeg, Canada.

When Ignorance Is Convenient

D ILL HART in "The Testing Block" reads the notice offering
*-' $1,000 for his capture and rides up to the sheriff and collects
the thousand. But later, after his wife has run away leaving
the usual note, Bill laments over the fact that he cannot read.

A. C. C, New York City.

The Perils of Pearl — Continued

PEARL WHITE, in "The Mountain Woman," is waylaid by
bandits. She is taken to a deserted coal mine and with her
hands bound securely behind her is left in the charge of three of
the bandits. The scene changes and when we again return to
the coal mine we see Pearl, her hands quite free, contemplating
a dash for liberty.

Edwin R.,
Philadelphia, Pa.

The Month's Most
Popular Error

IN "The Girl and the
Law," one of Uni-
versale "Red Rider"
series, Leonard Clap-
ham, in the role of a
valiant member of the
Royal Northwest
Mounted Police, starts
off in pursuit of a mur-
derer. As he disap-
pears in the shadows of
a giant forest, he is ob-
served to be wearing
khaki breeches with a
black stripe down each
leg. Sunrise, and he
gallops from the tall
timbers. But, lo and
behold, he is wearing
black pants with white
stripes!

Half a dozen mount-
ed policemen here-
abouts have been ques-
tioned about this and
they unanimously de-
clare it simply isn't
done. The motto of
the famous force is:
"Get your man — then
change your pants!" Dick Harrison, Saskatoon, Canada.

Nothing to Do Until This Morning

IT DIDN'T GET WET, DID IT?

! Sweet is an extravagant private secretary! In The Girl in

when she and Dick are going home after a hard rain, they take

grassy lawn, and Blanche allows her gown to trail

TN "Love" with Louise Glaum, eighteen hours constituted a
1 working day for the star. Still, she got home from work in
plenty of time to finish the evening meal, and have company
later.

A. E. L., Mamaroneck, N. Y.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

fcomeTo

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MISS VAN WYCK SAYS:

In this department, Miss Van Wyck will answer all personal problems
referred to her. If stamped, addressed envelope is enclosed, your questions
will be answered by mail. This department is supplementary to the fashion
pages conducted by Miss Van Wyck, to be found this issue on pages 42 and 43.

LM. C, Birmingham, Ala. — Sleeve
styles for summer are varied. If your
gown is to be of crepe or other thin
• material, a graceful fashion would be
the bell fleeve, that fits snugly at the upper
arm and flows loosely from elbow to wrist.

C. E. W., California. — Flesh and gray
are the fashionable shades this summer in
stockings for evening wear.

V. B., New Hampshire. — Two-strapped
slippers are more fashionable this summer
than pumps. They are equally good with
French or walking heels.

S. W., Hampton, Va. — Wooden beads
are much used this season and make hand-
some girdles. A contrasting color of beads
would be pretty with your blue frock.

N. A. L., Ohio. — A sallow complexion is
usually caused by a badly-regulated diet.
You had better give up pastry, ice cream
sodas and fried foods of all kinds. Eat
plenty of salad, coarse vegetables and whole
wheat bread. Open pores may be cor-
rected by cleansing the face thoroughly
with a good cold cream and then rubbing a
piece of ice lightly over the face and neck.
This must be continued daily to stimulate
the skin and keep the flesh firm.

A. D. Y., Iowa. — Taffeta in all shades is
fashionable. If you wish a more striking
material use printed crepe de chine.

E. J. E., Brooklyn. — Unbleached cotton
makes cool and effective hangings for
summer. A pretty room may be obtained
by making the hangings and cushions of
this material, edged with bias bands of
cretonne in any color you choose.

K. L., Maine. — There is a preference for
sashes in brilliant hues to accompany light-
colored summer frocks.

M. D. R., Logansport, Ind. — Pipe your
organdie frock with taffeta, either in a
harmonizing or contrasting shade.

E. F., Ansonia, Conn. — Will you tell me
a bit more about yourself, your height,
weight, and the way you dress your hair?
Then I may be able to help you in deciding
the type of hat that is most becoming.

S. R., Tenn. — Shoes and stockings in
contrasting colors are not worn by the best
dressed women. As a rule the hair is more
effective if dressed high for the evening.
A great deal of attention is being given to
headdresses, flowers, ribbon bands and
brocaded ribbon all appearing as needed
accessories with evening gowns.

Showing Them to the Indians

THE Bureau of Commercial Economics
in Washington owns and operates the
motion picture theater motor truck shown in
the accompanying photograph. It is to be
used to show motion pictures of travel and
industry to American Indians on the various
Indian reservations, and will shortly leave
for a tour of the middle west. The truck is

equipped with a projection machine and
other apparatus for the display of motion
pictures. A screen, which can be set up
anywhere in the outdoors is carried. The
women, shown on the platform are Princess
Tsisnina, noted Indian singer, and Miss
Marie Boggs, dean of the Bureau of Com-
mercial Economics of the Department of
Public Instruction.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Proper Abandon

(Continued from page 66 J

little longer anyway to be sure of it. Won't
you want some other animals in your
menagerie? Let me play those roles.
Wasn't I a good elephant? As Becky
would put it: 'I'll ask you, warn't I?' "

The girl's lips set themselves yet more
forbiddingly. Then they relaxed and the
corners of her mouth twitched the way
Peter liked to see them.

"We shall need a lion and a monkey and
a goat and a horse," she said.

"I'm sure I could do them acceptably."

"Very well. Come children!"

Every morning thereafter found Peter
Judkins in the park in the center of the
square. Successively he was lion, monkey,
goat, and horse, and then a camel and after
that a dancing bear, and then all these things
over again. And each successive part was
harder to play, but never a hint of this
came from Peter. He went at it as if he
considered each ridiculous stunt more en-
joyable than the last. He wore continually
one of those smiles that refuses to efface
itself under any conditions.

One day when it rained and there was no
play period in the park for the denizens of
the house across the square Peter paced
back and forth in front of the Elizabeth
Patterson House a round half-dozen times,
trying to get up his nerve to ring the bell
and inquire if they didn't have the play-
period for the backward children down in
the basement or somewhere else under
cover on rainy days, and if he couldn't join
in under cover as well as out under the
trees. But he couldn't quite get his courage
up to the point of doing that; so he went
away very depressed and disappointed with
a feeling that this was a wholly futile day
so far as he was concerned; and bought a
paper to scan the weather forecast, and felt
decidedly better when he read the words:
"clearing tonight; fair and cooler tomorrow."

Sarah Wendell meantime found herself
conjuring up the most absurd and ridiculous
stunts her fertile mind could devise for the
distinguished-looking old-young man to do
on the morrow. She was striving with
might and main to find something at which
he would balk; yet, strangely enough, she
was more than half angry with herself and
not a little disturbed to find herself hoping,
however impossible that stunt might be,
he wouldn't quit. And because of this she
thought harder to make them impossible
for him to accept ; and hoped correspondingly
harder that he would accept them. So it
went on until Pudge Sedgwick and his
camera and his alert eye for the unique
about town happened into the park one
morning when things were at their highest
pitch.

The deep-rooted ambition of Mr. Sedg-
wick was to write front-page stories for the
sheet whose pay-roll his name adorned;
particularly the kind of stories wherein the
murderer had vanished without leaving a
clue and the tangled skein was unravelled
by the writer of the said stories, viz.:
Pudge himself, after all the flatties and
plain-clothes men on the force had fallen
down on the job and were digging up
alibis.

But soulless powers that be who cared
more for the contents of the evening rag
they sponsored than for any lurking am-
bitions in the staff, had discovered Pudge
Sedgwick was a born scribbler of just such
little human interest stories as filled in the
nooks and corners of the evening paper in
question. And after this discovery Pudge
had about as much chance of realizing his
ambition as he had of becoming an angel,
which is saying they were extremely im-
probable.

Therefore, Pudge was turned loose with
a camera and his natural eye for the unique,

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(Continued)

and wrote his delightful little squibs and
illustrated them with the camera when they
seemed to warrant such illustrating, and
came to have an inordinate knowledge of
people and places and events, and also
developed that sixth sense of being on the
spot when anything worthwhile in his line
was about to happen.

Naturally Pudge knew a great deal about
people who might at some time, present or
future, be worth four or five sticks to him.
So, when he poked through a little park in
the middle of a square which was going to
the dickens about as fast as it could go, and
beheld a man who had been mentioned as a
near-future district attorney, going through
strange and undignified manoeuvres beneath
the trees while children of several national-
ities whooped and yelled and clapped their
hands and a young woman in white urged
on the show, Pudge paused and made sure
the shutter of the camera was working
properly.

The gentleman who was mentioned as a
more than possible future district attorney
was plainly impersonating a fiery charger.
He pawed the earth and tossed his mane — a
length of haircloth fringe from the basement
place which had become Peter's property-
room — and champed the length of twine in
his mouth that was at once bit, bridle and
reins.

Upon his back a small but gayly-got-up
young Veronese gentleman waved grandly a
wooden sword. In the offing by one of the
trees a distressed little lady of undoubted
Yiddish extraction yowled loudly to be
saved and mentioned dire things that might
happen to the knight on the charger if the
saving business was not put across at once.

Human interest seemed to be rampant in
the little park that morning. Pudge Sedg-
wick unlimbered his camera and made
himself inconspicuous behind a tree. Just
as the rescue got thoroughly under way, at
that auspicious moment when the gentle-
man who was the real shining light of the
firm of Bronson & Judkins galloped forth
cavortingly, and the sword was flourished
more grandly, and the Yiddish lady bawled
more loudly and everyone else held his or
her young breath, the shutter clicked rapidly
thrice. It is well to be amply supplied
since you never can tell how a film will turn
out.

And then Pudge Sedgwick stuck around
until the game was over. He was just one
of that usual crowd of delighted on-lookers
as Peter made his way out of the park.
There wasn't a sign of a camera about
Pudge Sedgwick. He was just a friendly,
understanding soul as he stepped to Peter's
side.

"Say, that's pretty nice of you to amuse
those kiddies," said Pudge.

"You see, I wasn't exactly doing that to
amuse them," said Peter.

It seemed mighty nice to discover one
sympathetic soul out of all that grinning,
heckling gallery who understood the situa-
tion at all. Peter looked at the clear-eyed
young fellow who had addressed him.
Certainly a sympathetic and understanding
soul. One you could unburden yourse.f to
if you chose. They walked together out
of the park.

"You see," Peter was explaining before
they reached the other side of the square,
"I'm learning to play with those kids."

"That makes it even more interesting,"
said the sympathetic soul beside him.
Naturally, it did.

Pudge knew how to draw out what he
wanted, and Peter was in an expansive
mood. His preceptress had smiled at him
lhat morning in a way she had never done
before ; a way Peter liked tremendously. To
be sure it was only the most fleeting sort of

a smile of that kind; still, she had done it.
Peter talked quite freely because he was in
that mood that makes it easy to talk quite
freely to someone who looks as if he might
be an understanding person.

At a corner some distance from the square
their ways separated. Pudge shook Peter's
hand warmly.

"Glad to have met you, sir," he declared.
"That's about the canniest stunt I've ever
known pulled; learning to play by a scien-
tifically-taught process. I believe there are
thousands of busy men in this burg who
would profit by something of the sort."

Of course it was up to Pudge to spill seme
such soothing valedictory. He did it very
well. He had practiced the art often before
now. Peter wrung Pudge's hand in return.
He felt he had just gone through a satisfying
ten minutes with this young man. Pudge
Sedgwick took a street to their right and
Peter took a street to their left, and so each
went as quickly out of the life of the other
as he had come into it — presumably.

As the late summer dusk was shutting in
that evening Sarah Wendell turned into the
street where she lived. Sarah always re-
ferred to it as "One of the late Seventies."
She carried copies of three evening papers.
One was the paper with the most amusing
cartoons; another had the best editorials;
the third sheet was the one which filled up
odd column-ends with delightful little
human-interest stories.

Sarah climbed the steps of a solid-looking
old residence and drew out her latch-key.
At this season of the year Sarah had the
whole house to herself. The rest of the
family were scattered over various points
of the map where summer always took them.
A portly female of uncertain years who had
grown gray in the service of the Wendell
family was Sarah's cook, major-domo,
body-guard and privileged adviser. She
did not at all approve of Sarah's course in
sticking to this work of hers, whatever it
was, instead of joining in the standard
summer exodus. But, since Sarah stub-
bornly persisted in staying, the fat party
to whom Sarah was a combination of mira-
cle, marvel and tin god, stuck too.

Sarah sat down to the solitary dinner
that her servitor-guardian always had ready
and waiting, no matter what the variance
of Sarah's appearance. She opened the
papers. She began first with the one that
ran all those interesting little stories that
were a delight if you took the trouble to
ferret them out. Tonight, for instance,
there was a quaint little yarn about the
scion of a well-known family, who found
his diversion poking about downtown
streets with his pockets full of grain for the
pigeons. And another that had to do with
the wonderful poems an elevator boy
picked up in his dreams and set down on
paper when he awoke. Sarah took a spoon-
ful of wholly excellent cold consomme and
rustled the pages. She started violently.
She was looking at a picture. It was the
picture of a man down on all lours in the
act of pawing the earth. He was bedecked
with a fringe of hair-cloth for a mane and
he was ridden by a young party of Italian
extraction who flourished a wooden sword.
The face of the gentlemanly charger was
turned full upon her in the picture. There
was no mistaking it. Neither was there
any mistaking the rider nor the little lady
in the background with outstretched arms
and a mouth wide open as she bawled her
appeals for help.

Pudge Sedgwick had done his work well
behind that tree. There to the last detail
was the scene of the morning's game in
the park wherein Sir Pasquale Vittori rode
gallantly forth to succor the Princess Yetta
Melinsky.

En ry advertisement in THOTOI'LAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Proper Abandon

( Continued)

Below the picture was Pudge's story,
headed: "Busy Lawyer Who Is Learning
to Play with the Kiddies. "

Sarah began to read it. She had not
read four lines when she said: "Oh!"
in tones of great distress. That same
"Oh!" uttered as if something had hurt
her punctuated the rest of her persual of
the story every now and then. Three
times Sarah read through Pudge Sedgwick's
little masterpiece, and each time she read
it she felt worse. Dinner was forgotten.
Sarah got up. She went out of the house.
She stepped over the low brownstone run
that divided the steps of the Wendell
house from the steps of the house next door.
She rang the bell. Being impatient, she
rang it again before there was the smallest
chance of anyone answering that first ring.

"Is Mr. Bronson home, Matty?" she
inquired of the maid who opened the door.

"Sure he is! Hello, Sarah! Come in
and give an account of yourself, " said a
voice from the other end of the hall.

Gilman Bronson came towards her, his
eyes beaming upon her from behind those
outside spectacles.

"How goes the great work, my dear?"
He looked her over slowly. "Sarah, you're
looking seedy. You're sticking too close.
It isn't worth it. Better get away for a
little. The hot weather is getting you."

"If I'm not looking up to snuff, it isn't
work nor the weather, " said she. " It's
because I'm frightened."

"Frightened?" he repeated as if it was
a new thought to him that the girl before
him could be frightened.

"I've done a foolish, silly, mean, unjust
thing," said she.

"How can I help you? I can help you,
can't I?"

He led the way into the big library at
the right of the hall and switched on the
lights.

"Yes, you can help me. You can help me
a whole lot by answering some questions."

He nodded.

"And not asking any yourself. "

He grinned, sobered, and nodded more
emphatically.

"Quite as you say about that. Fire away!"

"Will you tell me a few things about
your partner?" said Sarah.

"Which one?"

"Mr. Judkins. "

"Oh, Peter, eh? Well, Peter is thirty-
six, mighty good looking, tall, lean — "

"I don't mean about his appearance."
Bronson grinned again, and then grew
perhaps too serious. "What I'm after is
something about his early life. Did his
parents die when he was very young? "

" When he was six, I believe. "

"And some neighbors took him in, and
weren't very good to him, and he worked
very hard, and finally ran away?"

"Correct. And having run away, he
came down here and slept in strange places
and existed on strange viands and worked at
strange makeshift jobs to keep his young
soul in his body. And grew ambitious and
worked his way through Columbia and the
lav.- school. Glutton for books, I believe;
fearful young grind."

"Oh!" said Sarah in the same tone she
had said it when she was reading Pudge
Sedgwick's story under the cut of the snap-
shot.

"What else can I verify that he has told
you?" asked Bronson with a twinkle in his
eye.

" Thaven't said he has told me anything, "
said Sarah.

Well, hasn't he?"

"I believe you weren't to ask any ques-
tions. I'm under the impression you agreed
to that quite readily."

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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The Proper Abandon

(Continued)

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"That's so. Your pardon! You'd
rather I'd talk about Peter than ask any
pointed questions, wouldn't you? All right.
His sad young history continues thusly:
He comes into our concern as a scribbler
of briefs. But he's got brains. All kinds
of brains. They won't be denied. He's
a partner in no time. He's the bright and
shining light of the firm in no time after
that. He's continued to shine more bright-
ly with every passing year. There you are.
Now is there anything else?"

"Has there been a sort of wearing out in
this partner of yours lately? Has he been
told to take a vacation?"

Bronson became thoroughly and genu-
inely serious at that query.

"No human being could hold the pace
he has been hitting for the past twenty
years or more," he enlightened her. "Yep,
he was beginning to crack. Needed rest
and something besides work. We kicked
him out of the office. We've driven him
hence no less than five times since that.
But of late he seems to have seen the light
and realized that it's his best bet to stay
gone for a time. He hasn't shown up at
the office, bleating that he was all ready for
work again, for over three weeks now. "

"Thank you!" said Sarah. "Those
were the questions I wanted answered.
You've helped me hugely. Good night!
Some day, of course, I'll tell you the whole
story."

"Your credit in the. matter of delayed
explanations is always good with me, my
dear. You always come across with them,
all in your own good time."
He saw Sarah to the door.
"Do you know," he said, as he opened
it for her, "I've got a peculiar, sneaking
feeling that I ought to be a whole lot
smaller and younger than I am, and be
wearing far less clothes, and be chubby
and curly-haired and carry a bow and a
quiver full of arrows, and be shooting those
arrows at you and Peter; dividing them
impartially between you."

"I can't seem to^imagine you in that
role, for more reasons than purely physical
ones, " said she, passing through the door
and stepping across to the stoop of her own
house.

Gil Bronson smiled, his head thrust out
the door as he watched her.

" Nothing would suit me better than to
put in my time that way; both on your
account and on Peter's."

Sarah slipped her latch-key into the lock.
" Peter's got all my money on him, and
always will have it, Sarah. That's the sort
of lad Peter Judkins is.'"

"Good night!" said Sarah again.
The door of the Wendell house opened
and closed. Gil Bronson smiled more
broadly and sighed, and wrinkled his brows
and sighed and smiled. And, still smiling,
he closed his own door.

Sarah was the early bird in the little
park next morning. She was quite alone.
She occupied a bench that commanded a
view of both ends of the main path. She
sat there until she saw a tall, lean, eager
figure swinging through the east entrance.
"Oh, good morning!" said she, and her
usual poise seemed somewhat undermined.
"Why — why — good morning!" said
Peter. He seemed surprised to find her
there without her tenth legion. But he
did not seem at all disturbed about it,
nor greatly downcast. "Where are all
the little playmates?"

"I wanted to see you alone for a mo-
ment," said she. Peter looked very satis-
fied. "Shall we sit down on this bench for
a minute or two? "

They sat down on the bench. Peter
quite plainly was very ready to sit with her

on that bench. He still seemed more or
less bewildered, but wholly happy.

"Which particular paper did you read
last evening?" Sarah asked him.

" I didn't read any of them. "

"Then perhaps this will interest you."
She passed him the sheet with the picture
of himself in the role of Pasquale Vittori's
charger very conspicuous on Page 17.

He took it, looked, scowled, read, and
the frown grew more pronounced. Sarah
watched him. There was a hint of meek
apology about her. He read the whole
thing through, folded the paper, and took
a deep breath that was much like a sigh.
But he made no comment.

"It has upset you, hasn't it?" she asked.

"No," he denied. "No. I am not
upset. I'm just wondering, when I go
down to the office of this sheet and have a
few words with a pleasant young man I
talked with here in this place yesterday
morning, whether I'd better take a knife
or a gun with me."

"You mustn't feel that way about it,"
said she. "On the whole, you should feel
grateful that this picture and this story
were published."

He lifted his brows as if this was open to
debate.

"This little story has brought home to
me the fact that I have been very unjust
to you," she explained. "And I'm sorry,"
she added in a manner that carried con-
viction.

"I don't think I quite understand."

"This story gives one the impression
that you believed you were learning to
play by a scientific method."

"Wasn't I?"

"No."

"What was happening all the time?"

"I was just trying my best to make you
ridiculous. "

He thought this over. He seemed try-
ing to take in her side of the affair as well
as his own.

"Why should you do anything like that?
Why should you want to do anything of
the kind?"

"There have been many men who have
expressed an interest in my work since I
have been bringing the children here to
play. It has been a most annoying sort
of interest. "

"May I inquire if you undertook to
make any of those other annoyingly inter-
ested parties ridiculous?"

"No. They were put down somewhat
more suddenly. "

He seemed gratified that he had been
singled out for rather more attention than
the others.

"Well, I imagine you succeeded in mak-
ing a spectacle of me," he chuckled, think-
ing over the various roles he had played at
her suggestion.

"And you were in deadly earnest about
it. You wanted to learn to play. You
thought I was teaching you — scientifically. "

"What has changed your impression cf
me? Is it the general tenor of this story,
or the fact that is divulged that I am Peter
F. Judkins, a presumably respectable mem-
ber of a most conservative and respectable
firm of lawyers? "

"For over sixty years the Bronson family
and the Wendell family have lived side by
side. My name, by the way, if you don't
already know it, is Sarah Wendell. Last
night, after I had seen this bit in the paper,
I went to the house next door and had a
little heart-to-heart talk with Oilman
Bronson. I learned a whole lot of things."

"Oh, I see. Well, what are we going to
do about it?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out.
What shall I do about it?"

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Proper Abandon

(Concluded)

Peter thought deeply for a time. He
wrinkled his brows and heaped up a little
pile of gravel with the toe of one shoe.

"Anyway," he said at length, "whether
you meant to do so or not, you did teach
me abandon. I'm going to prove to you
just how thoroughly you imbued me with
it. I think the only thing to do is to start
in teaching me rightly how to play. And
I think the lessons should continue a long,
long time. So long as we both shall live."

A soft red crept up the girl's neck and
into her cheeks. She looked beyond the
trees at the houses across the square. The
dusty leaves rustled softly above their
heads. The glory of a perfect late summer
morning descended upon even the dingy
little part in the down-at-the-heel little
square.

"Well," said Sarah slowly at length, "I
suppose I do owe you — "

Peter Judkins suddenly straightened him-
self with a great effort.

"Wait," he said. "Wait before you
answer. You've been mighty fine and
square about all this. I've got to be just
as square with you."

He took a deep breath, as if he were
about to dive into water that would be
fearfully cold.

"Suppose you were more than half right
in your surmises. Suppose you are justi-
fied in doing every last thing you have
done. Suppose I did approach you that
first morning I came here with some whim-
sical idea of learning to play, with the kids;
at the beginning, but suppose that I hung
around and came again and again — well,
for reasons that gave you the justification
I have mentioned. How would you feel
about that?"

She kept her eyes on those houses
across the square. The red in her cheeks
deepened. There was an interval of silence
that began to be oppressive and ominous.

"I think," she said at last, and at the
very first low-toned, indistinct word Peter
felt much better, "under the circumstances
— considering — oh, everything — I should
feel very happy about it, Peter."

Is The Screen to Blame?

A PARTICULARLY tragic thing hap-
pened in New York recently.

A boy of fifteen hanged himself, after
witnessing "A Connecticut Yankee in King
Arthur's Court. " He was a boy who came,
with his sister, from Hartford, Conn., to
Manhattan to "see the sights." They
included the fine film in a Broadway
theater — the screen version of the famous
Mark Twain story. In it, among the inci-
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hangings. The boy employed the same
methods as those shown in the film.

No censor could find fault with "A
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record of a celebrated book. The boy,
if he had been equal to the task of reading
the original story, might have been im-
pressed by the same idea there as easily
as on the screen. But he didn't read the
book and he did see the picture.

Is the screen to blame?

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Actual i

Is Marriage a Bunco Game?

{Continued from page 23)

Mr. and Mrs. Rupert Hughes. The famous writer and his wife are now
visiting the Goldwyn studios in California.

relationship that is almost perfect. I
I am not surprised at myself — though some-
times I am at her. But we early eliminated
the bunco. A writer is not an easy man to
live with — for that matter, neither is a
plumber, a doctor nor a Sunday school
superintendent.

"Marriage — I have wandered a bit — but
marriage in itself isn't bad. Of course a lot
of the people who are in it aren't any credit
to it. But that is true of almost every-
thing. It is actually full of compensations,
wonderful joys and solemnities. It is the
bunk that people hand out — the silly senti-

mental deceit, the absolute wall of rose col-
ored tradition, all false, that makes it a
bunco game.

"Say — 'marriage is here. It's a hard
proposition, but if you don't like it at first
you can shuffle over and get a new deal.'
Then at least you're honest."

A call boy appeared. Mr. Hughes, whose
next picture, "The Old Nest," featuring
Mary Alden, is in preparation, was wanted
on the set.

He said "Good-by" and left me to try to
remember all he had said.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Mary Got Her Hair Wet!

(Continued from page 35)

She made a vacation trip to California,
and Fate picked her up and set her down on
the Mack Sennett lot — which wasn't exactly
the place you would have picked for a
school teacher.

Right now I think Mary is waiting for
Fate to pick her up again and do something.
She has just completed her contract with
Allan Dwan. She has gained dramatic
experience and poise playing leads with him.
She thinks she is ready now to do big things.

I rather agree with her.

I never thoroughly understood Mary
Thurman until I discovered her ancestry.
She is half English, a quarter Danish and a
quarter Irish.

She thinks like an Irishwoman, feels like a
Dane and acts like an Englishman.

For, in spite of the hair and the figure that
testifies of her Sennett days, she's a prim,
dignified little thing, is Mary Thurman.

At home, she wears odd little frocks of her
own designing, with long bodices, short full
skirts and rounded, low necks. They suit
her. She is never entirely comfortable in
anything else. Up to this year, she made all
her own clothes, because she liked them best.
I saw her at the theater the other evening in
one of her own style gowns of sea-green
chiffon, copied exactly after a blue and white
linen I'd seen her wear at home.

She is an oddly colorful person, much
more vivid and exotic in person than she is
in mind. Her eyes, which are deep blue like
a new baby's, have the Irish trick of growing
almost black with emotion or excitement as
the pupils enlarge.

She is somehow like a gay little boat,
floating on the stream of life, all gay flags and
Japanese lanterns and white, wind-blown
sails, passing with a bright, carefree salute —
but not quite sure of her course, not quite
sure of the guiding hand on the wheel.

And you can't help answering with a
wave and a cheer for good-luck as you pass.

Always Looks the Part

FROM his appearance, as he dodged
traffic at 42 nd and Broadway, it was
quite evident that he had just arrived
in the Big Town from up-state. A soft hat
•was pulled down over his gray locks, his
clothes were of the mail-order variety, and
one hand firmly held a heavy cane. Yet the
Observer of Things-in-General smiled at an
amused remark of his companion, and shook
his head.

"That man never saw a New England
farm," he said. "He does atmosphere work
for the movies, and is always dressed for the
part off screen as well as on. He's a type,
you see; every casting director in town
knows him, and as a result of his very excel-
lent make-up, he is quite in demand for bits
and atmosphere work requiring a rube char-
acterization. There are hundreds of men
around the studios who make their living in
the same way — Kentucky colonels who were
never south of the Mason- Dixon line, west-
ern ranch-owners who wouldn't know alfalfa
from cactus, Englishmen, czars and butlers.
Frequently they draw a higher salary check
than the ordinary extra man, and each, in
his heart, believes himself an artist.

"This chap, for instance, takes himself
very seriously and it's true that he does add
tone to a scene, because he is the embodi-
ment of what we expect a 'rube' to look like.

"The vanity of women in atmosphere
work prevents them from living a character
role that may not be flattering to their
appearance, but the men take quite a pride
in it, and it is, admittedly, an excellent way
in which to attract the eye of the casting
director."

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The House That Jokes Built

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(Continued from page 37)

"I says to the architect : 'You ain't goin' to tell me how to build a barn, are
you? You go round front and play with your Louis Quince and your velvet

saddle blankets.

middle of the front lawn. They'd a had all
sorts of ideas about what pictures had done
to me if I had.

"Oh, yes, an' he had a little marble pool
of gold fish, too. Imagine me sayin' to
some of the cow hands I know, when they
come up for a little amusement, 'Let's go
out and look at the gold fish!'

"No, sir, I sent them gold fish right back
to Tiffany's.

" I got a swell ring in my front yard now,
too. It's as big as the one in Madison
Square Garden — a regular tan bark ring.

"When I first mentioned I had it in mind,
these architects and landscapers acted like
Burleson and Palmer after the election.
'You can't do that,' they said, 'nobody
hasn't ever done that before.'

"I says, that was what they said about
prohibition, but good liquor costs about
twenty-five dollars a quart around Holly-
wood now, and while that ain't prohibition,
it sounds like a Republican tariff, don't it?

"Course none of that means anything to
me. I ain't ever been able to drink whisky.
The taste don't suit me. For myself, I
prefer a little red ink. Tastes kinda good,
and makes you feel like you was still in the
game without runnin' any chance of for-
gettin' to bet a diamond flush like I saw a
fella do the other night.

"Well, gettin' back on our original trail —

"I built me that tan bark ring, as I said,
right in the front yard. I got a nice stretch
of level ground there and it sure makes a
fine ring. We got a seven foot brick wall
around it, and every Sunday we collect a
right smart crowd of contest hands down
there. They do some fine stunts, too. I
bet you couldn't get 'em to work like that
for a hundred bucks a day. We got some
goats that ain't a bit harder to rope than a
flea and some mornings Polly Frederick
rides over with her outfit and we do stunts.

"An' by gosh, after I got that ring all
built and fixed up, that little architect guy
comes out and looks it over and says to me,
'Mr. Rogers, that's wonderful. It looks
great. You've got a great eye for distance.
Nothin' else would a done there, would it?'

' 'It certainly would not,' I says.

"Oh, I got lots of compliments about that
ring. You know, if it works you get the
asbestos snow shoes and if it don't, you're
a bench warmer.

"Doug an' Mary come down the hill one
morning to look it over and right off Doug
says, 'Now see, that's exactly what I
wanted. I think that's swell. I always
had an idea for one like that.'

"My gosh, you know he'd never seen no
such ring and never give it a thought before.
Mary give me a wink. He didn't have her

fooled. Anyway, Doug ain't got any front
yard, 'cause his place is built on a hill.

"Funny thing about the houses us celeb-
rities have built in Beverly Hills. Take
Doug and Mary. They've got a right nice
little place, sure enough, but the one every-
body points out as theirs belongs to a fella
gets a million dollars a minute out of his
oil wells and Doug's house would go in his
cellar.

"Other mornin' a nice old lady and gent
ride right up into my yard. There's a wall,
but of course there's a gate too, and they
come rompin' right in, in a big limousine
looked like a hearse.

"He looks at me sorta stern and says,
'Ain't this Bill Hart's place?' I allowed it
was.

" 'Told ye it was, told ye it was,' he says,
givin' the old lady a dig in the ribs with his
elbow.

"Oh heck, I didn't see no use spoilin'
their fun. They'd never heard of me, prob-
ably, and they seemed to have a lot of
regard for Bill Hart. An' that's a harmless
amusement.

"Inside the house, too, we got a lot of
phonographs and ampicos, and some trick
movie machines. But gosh, I'm no good
with them things. My kids has all got me
roped and tied when it comes to puttin' on
phonograph records and them papers that's
all shot full of holes that go in pianos. An
as for those trick 'have your own pictures
at home' machines — shoot, it don't seem to
have any notion what it's for itself.

"Have to stop it at the end of every reel
and put on a new one. I always get 'em
on upside down. Once we ran a whole reel
that-a way without knowin' it.

"Some pictures are that way.

" Come on out some Sunday and I'll show
you around.

"Any Sunday, except next Sunday. I
gotta go down to Pomona and make a
speech about the Sunday Blue Laws because
they're goin' to have an election down there
next Monday.

"They're tryin' to shut up all the theaters
and the cigar stands — and, let me see, I
can't remember whether they're goin' to
let the churches stay open or not. They
included 'em the time they shut up every-
thing for the flu.

"It's goin' to be right hard on some of
these preachers if they quit Sunday movies.
They'll have to write a Sunday night
sermon once in a while.

"But it looks to me like I haven't got
much right to horn in on this anyway."

"Well, come out some Sunday and see
the 'House that Jckes Built.'

Every 8 I n PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Mother O1 Mine

(Continued front page 45)

smile, who sang "Pinafore" and "Iolanthe"
and "Mikado" to enraptured audiences and
finally married a young actor named Charles
Chaplin.

He died and left her with two little boys,
Charles, Jr., and Sydney. Small wonder
that the bond between the young mother
and her boys was close.

And small wonder that her new pride in
her two sons is helping to lift the veil of
her illness.

Do you remember that little trick Charlie
has of covering his mouth with his hand
when he laughs? And the well-known,
deliciously funny shrug?

Sydney Chaplin tells me that he inherited
both of them from the little gray-haired
woman who sits in the window.

"Mother has — always had — the keenest,
most delightful sense of humor," said
Charlie, with a tender smile. "I remember
it in all my thoughts of the early days. If
I have any sense of fun, I owe it all to her."

Perhaps everybody is not as grateful for
laughs as I am. But I feel that we owe
Mrs. Hannah Chaplin many thanks — those
of us who have laughed joyously at the
reproductions of her in her son.

Oddly enough, his mother does not find
the great screen idol particularly funny.

Perhaps that is because, during the years
of the war when she lived so close to the
seeming wreck of civilization and Chris-
tianity, Mrs. Chaplin became devoutly,
earnestly religious. She reads little now
except the Bible. She cares for little that
does not, as she puts it, "tend to teach the
world to believe in and live the religion of
Christ."

"You seem a very remarkable young
man," she said to her son. "Wherever I
go, no matter what the society or the place,
I hear you spoken of in terms of love and
admiration. I am very glad, my son. But
I do not exactly see why."

She has seen only one of Charlie's
pictures, an old one called "Shanghaied."

But now that he has so established him-
self, become so famous, his mother can see
but one future for him.

"My son," she said to him on an evening
soon after her arrival, when they all sat
together in the drawing-room of Sydney's
house, and she was at her best, "You must
give up the screen and enter the pulpit.
Think of the souls you could save!"

It staggered Charlie a bit.

And these two — the famous comedian
who in real life is so simple, so sincere, so
serious a person, and the little spiritual-
faced woman who bore him — they had one
of those discussions that mothers and sons
must always have if the world is to go on
at all.

Charlie tried to show her that in the
pulpit he could reach but a few people
compared to the vast i. umber he reaches on
the screen. He tried to explain to her his
philosophy — that in making people laugh
cleanly he was helping them to grow kinder,
more tolerant, more law-abiding, that he
was bringing sweetness into the world.

Wasn't that better?

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The Photograph

(Continued from page 32)

was Sol's experience that no man could hope
to understand a woman until he was very
old. He himself was still learning even
now . . . learning how little he knew.

" I tell you, Mrs. Wainton, an' you, Mr.
Wainton, too, thar's some things that a
man sees in his life that he don't never git
over a-tall . . . no, nor don't understand,
neither . . ."

He paused then and the husband who so
far had had very little to say spoke to his
wife.

"Peggy, you're tired. Why not wait and
have a talk with Mr. Gritting tomorrow
morning?"

"Oh! Tony, you wouldn't be so mean,
surely!"

"All right," said the husband, "if you
must, you must. Mr. Gritting won't keep
you too long, I daresay!"

Sol, afraid that he might be robbed of
his audience, went on with his story.

"Mrs. Wainton, can you see that little
hole in the woodwork to the right of the
chimney . . . from whar you're settin'?
Can you guess what it is?"

She shook her head. "N-no!"

"It's not the mark of a bullet, is it?"
said the husband.

"The mark of a bullet," said Sol. "Yes,
sir, the mark of a bullet . . . thar was two
fired . . . two of them. I guess I'd better
tell yuh everything from the beginning.

"It was jest about twenty-two years ago:
twenty-two years ago next March: an' it
might uv been yesterday. White Gap ain't
much of a place for folks to visit in March,
though you wouldn't git better March
weather anywheres, but in this pertickler
March we had guests. Two. Man an' his
wife. Both young an' sociable an' jest as
much in love with each other as . . . well,
as any young couple on a honeymoon could
be. Yes, I dunno when I met a young feller
I liked as much, an' Ellen . . . that was
my wife, Mrs. Wainton: she died jest about
eleven years ago last summer ... a purty
good jedge uh character Ellen was an' she
told me she didn't want to know a nicer
young lady than the wife. She an' him was
jest like a couple uh kids together. You
could see them wanderin' round over the
rocks an' hills, hand in hand, laughin' an'
talkin' jest like the days wasn't long enough
for them to say all what they wanted to say.
Evenin's, they'd sit here in front of the fire,
an' mebbe ask Ellen an' me in to spend half
an hour or so with 'em before bedtime.

"Say, that little girl was great. Good-
lookin', sure, like a picture. Not tall,
smaller'n most girls, I guess, an' dark-haired,
an' if you seen her once you wouldn't never
forget her . . . no, sir, you wouldn't forget
her, never! I wasn't surprised that the
young feller worshipped her. I wasn't sur-
prised a-tall!

"Ellen, she sez to me one day, when we'd
been havin' a few words, that they was a
lesson to folks what had been married long
enough to forget what it was like to be
lovers! But that didn't apply to me, Mrs.
Wainton an' Mr. Wainton, except as a kind
of joke, because Ellen an' me had growed
more fond of each other each year we was
husband an' wife. But it was Ellen what
first noticed something was wrong. 'Sol,'
she sez, 'that little girl's sad!' I didn't
believe it ... I jest didn't. 'Yes,' she
sez, 'it's the truth. What's more, she's had
little joy out of life till now. I wonder was
her folks cruel to her or what! There's
something on her mind that's tonnentin'
her!' I knew Ellen was right when I seen
the little girl comin' in from a walk soon
after with her eyes lookin' like she's been
cryin' . . . she, not sayin' a word, tryin' to
smile when she seen me, an' the young feller

laughin' an' pretendin' he an' the girl
hadn't a care in the world. First I was
scairt they'd been quarrellin', but it wasn't
that. No, sir, it wasn't that a-tall! Ellen
. . . she was a wonderful jedge uh char-
acter, Ellen was . . . she sez they was toe
much in love with each other to quarrel
about anything, but what was wrong with
'em was they was frightened!

"Yes, sir, they was frightened, the pair
uh them! The girl, anyways! Often I'd
see her, when mebbe she wasn't thinkin'
folks was lookin', start an' look round quick
like she expected someone to come creepin'
into the room . . . an' often when she'd
be laughin', she'd stop sudden an' listen
. . . yes, sir, that's the truth, astrue as I'm
settin' here twenty-two year after it all
happened, tellin' you all about it! But she
sez to me one day that she'd always look
back on the time she'd spent at White Gap
as the happiest she'd ever known. ' It's so
peaceful an' quiet,' she sez. 'I could live
here always.' 'Is that so, ma'm?' sez I.
'But I guess,' I sez, 'that you'd have a
purty good time wherever you were!'
'Mr. Gritting,' she sez, 'till I came here I
didn't know what happiness was!' Queer,
wasn't it! Why should a girl her age be
talkin' like that?

"An' then one night the other man found
them." Sol nodded his head and looked
first at the young wife and then at her
husband to see what effect his story was
having. They did not speak. The girl was
staring at him with a curious doubt in her
blue eyes. The husband gazed into the
fire, his forehead puckered into a little
frown.

"Yes, he found them," continued Sol
slowly. "He found them all right . . .
that other man did! An' that was the
finish of everything. Funny how things
that you never suspected will seem quite
ord'nery afterward, ain't it! Another man,
hey! I tell you, Mrs. Wainton, it kind uh
hurts even now when I think of it!
An' who was to blame? God knows! But
listen! Ellen was gitting the supper ready.
'Sol,' she sez, 'thar's someone comin'!'
Jest like my darter, Lucy, sez to me this
evenin' when she hears the auto . . . only,
Mrs. Wainton, what I'm tellin' you now
was before autos was invented ... or if
invented, we hadn't seen none uh them in
Californy. Anyways, Ellen, she sez to me:
'Sol, I can hear wheels an' a horse's hoofs!'
An' sure enough, she was right. I went out
into the lobby an' lit the lamp an' then some-
body knocked an' I opened the front door.

"Thar was a big, squar'-shouldered,
fattish man in city clothes on the porch.
'Evenin',' he says, an' without so much as
askin' my leave he pushes past me into the
house. I don't understand. 'Why,
stranger,' I sez, 'what's this, comin' into a
man's house this-a-ways? What's doin'?'
An' then he looks me straight in the face,
his small eyes very cold an' starin', an' it
seems like he's tryin' to see what kind of
a feller I am. I was . . . now, let me see
. . . forty-eight, in them days, Mrs. Wain-
ton . . . an' I guess you wouldn't uv met
a stronger man in the county fer my height.
'I apologize,' sez he, 'if I acted rude. But
I'm in a hurry. I guess, mister,' he sez, 'I
got to talk plain an' act plain.' An' then
he asks me if we got any guests in the
house. 'Why, yes,' I sez, 'you'll gen'rally
find someone here any time uh the year.'
He grins, then. 'Man an' a girl?' he asks.
'Young feller an' his wife; honeymoon
couple,' sez I. He grins again — ugly as sin
he is, fat an' not much younger than me.
Git that, Mrs. Wainton! A man not far
short uh fifty! 'Honeymoon couple!' he sez.
'Right! You needn't tell me the name,'

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Photograph

(Continued)

sez he. 'Names is the easiest part uh the
whole business. Let's have a look at 'em!
They're friends uh mine . . . the best
friends I got ! '

"I wasn't lookin' fer that, somehow, not
from his manner, but I hadn't much time
to think what I was goin' to do because jest
then when he said that the young feller an'
the girl come down the stairs at the end of
the lobby an' the fat man begins to laugh.
Yes, sir, that's the truth — he begins to
laugh, under his breath almost, with his
cold eyes like two slits an' his mouth very
hard an' set . . . an' the young feller stops
an' looks at him . . . an' the girl, Mrs.
YVainton . . . the girl jest puts her hands
to her throat an' slides in a little heap to the
floor.

" 'So you've found us at last!' sez the
young feller at the foot of the stairs. 'Yes,'
sez the other. 'I have. I'd like to have
the pleasure of a few minutes' conversation,'
he sez, 'alone!' 'Sure,' sez the other. An'
all this time he's lookin' at the girl, not
techin' her, lettin' her be whar she lay.
'Mr. Gritting,' he sez, 'will you have the
goodness to ask Mrs. Gritting to step this
way. My wife's fainted.' An' at that the
fat man jest laughs like he's tickled to death.
'Don't disturb her,' sez he, 'mebbe she's
better left like she is till we've had our talk!
She'll come to fast enough after I done
with you, I bet!'

"An' even then, Mrs. Wainton, I don't
see how things is. I ain't quite lackin' in
common sense, neither. No, sir! I slips
across the lobby into the kitchen an' fetches
Ellen. When I come back the two men are
in here, in this very room, talkin'. The
girl opens her eyes an' fer a minute she don't
seem to know what's been happenin'. An'
then all of a sudden she remembers.
'Whar is he?' she sez. 'What have you
done with him?' Ellen sez to her she ain't
to worry. Everything's all right. 'Your
husband,' she sez, 'is talkin' to his friend in
the dinin' room.' An' the girl . . . Mrs.
Wainton, she looks like she's goin' out of
her mind. 'My husband!' she sez, jest like
that — 'my husband! with him! Why did
you let him?' she sez. 'Why did you let
him? Couldn't you see what he was
like? He'll kill him,' she sez. 'I know
what he is. Oh, God! ain't I suffered
enough!' Yes, Mrs. Wainton, them was her
very words. ' Suffered enough !'

"Waal, I was kind uh scairt. I don't
mind tellin' you. 'What do you mean?'
sez I . . . an' the girl . . . the girl gits to
her feet an' goes to the door of the room
here an' tries the handle. 'You can't come
in,' sez a voice. 'Keep out!' 'They've
locked the door!' sez the girl. Very white
she is an' like to go off in a faint again any
minute. I run round to the kitchen, then,
but the other door is locked, too, so I go
back to the lobby ag'in. No, they won't
open. Them two is in this room here by
themselves . . . talkin' . . . jest talkin'!
We can't hear what they say, neither. The
girl keeps rattlin' the handle an' callin' to
them to let her in. Ag'in an' ag'in, like
she's crazy! Say, I guess she was crazy,
too! Yes, sir, I guess she was. An' thar
we are, in the lobby, me an' Ellen standin'
round, lookin' at each other, not able to do
nothin', an'' the girl on her knees by the
door, cryin' an' sobbin'.

"The voices is gittin' louder an' louder,
an' more angry, an' the girl is beatin' on the
door with her fists an' cryin': 'Let me in,
let me in, fer the love of God!' like that.
But they don't take no notice a-tall. An'
then, sir, it happens, jest as I'm savin' I'll
break the door in. Two shots, one after
the other . . . quick . . . an' the noise of
a man fallin' on the floor an' then silence.

Yes, sir, jest like that ! Jest silence. An'
then we hear footsteps, slow an' heavy, an'
the door opens an' the girl screams . . . an'
the man with the cold eyes . . . the fat
man . . . stands lookin' at her, grinnin'
like he's amused. 'Well,' he sez, 'it's me
all right. No need to be scairt, dearest!
No need a-tall! I'm glad I found you, you
poor little thing!' sez he. 'You've had a
hard time of it with that yeller cur ... a
hard time . . . but it's over now . . .
you're comin' home an' you're goin' to be
happy ... so happy ... so doggone
happy you'll hardly believe it!' An', say,
did he mean it ! Did he mean it . . .
nothin'! His eyes is like snake's eyes an'
he's lookin' at the girl like he hates her. She
jest kneels at his feet, all huddled up an'
quiet, like she's dazed. 'Is he dead?' she
sez in a whisper. 'Is he dead? Fer the
love of God, tell me is he dead?'

" 'No,' sez the fat man, 'oh, no! he's not
dead, my purty one!' He laughs an'
teches her with the toe of his boot. 'Git
yer coat an' hat an' make haste . . . the
sooner we're away from here the better,' he
sez. An' to me he sez: 'He shot at me
first!' He looks at me like he's darin' me
to argue. 'He shot at me first,' he sez.
'Understand that, without warnin'!' Yes,
Mrs. Wainton, that's what he tells me out-
side the room yonder, with the girl still
crouchin' in a heap on the floor, moanin'
like she's hurt, an' Ellen lookin' sick an'
Tom Lurt, he's the hired man I has in them
days, an' Lord knows who else crowdin'
into the lobby. 'Yes,' sez he, 'he fired firs£.
I guess he'd uv added to his other sins by
murder!' That man, talkin' of murder or
sins, hey! That devil! He taps the girl on
the shoulder. 'Come on,' he sez, 'come on
home — it's gittin' late!' But the girl don't
move, an' Ellen . . . she's scairt, too,
Ellen is, only she don't show it, much . . .
she asks him what right he has to tech her.
'What right?' he sez. 'What right! An'
ain't a man a right to his own wife? His
lovin' wife!' He has his gun in his hand an'
he looks like he wants to use it. 'Anyone
want to argue?' he sez. What can we do?
What can we do that would help any?
'Go git me a coat or something to wrap her
in,' sez he. 'An' make haste!' An' then I
speaks to the girl. 'Is he your husband?'
sez I. 'Oh, yes!' she sez. 'Oh, yes! he's
my husband . . . ' Poor little girl! say, it's
tough on her, the whole business! Tough
as . . . as . . . well, it was terr'ble tough!
An' then the husband . . . that fat, cold-
blooded swine . . . takes hold of her by
the arm an' lifts her to her feet, but she
can't stand . . . she's off in a faint once
more . . . an' so he has to carry her out to
the buckboard.

"An' that was the last I seen of her. Or
of him, neither. She went away, poor
little thing, leavin' the man she loved with
a bullet wound in his chest, an' never a word
to explain what it meant. But we knew all
right . . . we knew at last ! Married to
that devil, hey! An' why . . . God
knows. Twenty-five years too old for her,
an' bad all through. Yes, sir, he was bad,
that man was, you'd only to see him once
an' you knew what he was without askin'!
An' why had she married a man like that,
hey? God knows! Whether her folks had
made her, or what . . . it's been a mystery
to me to this day!''

Sol paused.

"And the other man?" asked the girl al-
most under her breath.

"He died. Yes, Mrs. Wainton, he died,
next mornin'. We had a doctor quick as we
could from Santa Teresa, but he couldn't
save him. A bad time that, Mrs. Wainton
... a bad time. Folks goin' round on j

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The Photograph

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{Continued)

tip-toe an' talkin' in whispers an' the lad
dyin' ...

"Before he went he said that he wanted to
see me. The doctor was there an' old Ed
Arlock, the dep'ty sheriff, an' little Milder,
the lawyer ... he was from Santa Teresa
as well. Them three an' me, upstairs in the
room, with the sun shinin' through the win-
dow . . . yeh, an' with that poor girl's
things layin' round whar she's left 'em the
night before ... all but what she'd had on
when she went away. An' what did he
want? I'll tell yuh. He'd had little Milder
write out a kind uh legal docyment to say
that he'd tried to kill the other feller! See!
An' that the other feller had had to shoot
him in self-defense! That was all! So that
thar wouldn't be no more fuss than was
needed. But he didn't give no names. He
kept his mouth shut an' died without sayin'
a word who the man was or the girl or
nothin'. An' as fer that about tryin' to kill
. . . an' shootin' in self-defense . . . waal,
you gotter show me!

"Jest at the end I asks if it hurts. He
looks at me, like he didn't know. 'No,' he
sez after a while, 'no, not half as much as it
would have hurt if I'd lived an' she with
him!' An' I guess that was almost the last
words he said. Say, I felt bad. Mrs. Wain-
ton an' Mr. Wainton, I guess I never felt
quite so bad in my life as I did then . . .
no, not till Ellen herself died, I didn't!
Mebbe thar's folks 'ud say him an' the girl
deserved their punishment. But I ain't so
sure! No, I ain't so Sure, not when I think
uh that husband uh hers! Why in the name
o'f all that's terr'ble had the girl married a
man like that? What was the reason?
She'd run away from him, sure . . . with
another man! Wrong of her, hey! Uh
course it was wrong! A bad woman, warn't
she! Well, I don't know. I guess I seen too
much uh human natur' in the raw to jedge
other folks off-hand without hearin' the evi-
dence both sides. Seems to me thar's a deal
uh truth in that what was said about castin'
the first stone! It's easy to talk, but it's
darn' hard to talk sense. An' how do we
know what we'd do ourselves sim'larly fixed,
hey?"

Sol ended abruptly and sat, with his arms
folded, staring into the fire. For a while no-
body said a word. And then the girl gave a
little sigh.

"I think," she said, "I think, Mr. Grit-
ting, that's the saddest story I ever heard!
That poor little thing waiting outside the
door ..."

"Yes, ma'm," said Sol: "waitin' outside
the door an' hearin' the shootin' an' not
knowin' which uh the two she'd see ..."

"And this was the room . . . was it!"
Once again the girl looked quickly over her
shoulder as though afraid even now of some-
one she could not see. Then she slipped her
hand into her husband's and smiled at him.
"It must be too awful . . . too awful to
think of . . . for a girl to be married to a
man that she doesn't love! I'd rather die at
once and have done with it. I'm all right,
anyhow."

The husband nodded his head gravely.
"Yes, Peggy . . . why, of course!"

"I remember mother telling me when I
was quite little that if I didn't love the man
I married I'd better not get married at all.
She knew, didn't she?"

"Is yer father alive, Mrs. Wainton?" said
Sol.

She shook her head. "He died when I
was too small to remember him. Mother
always said I'd had the best and dearest
father in the world. I'm lucky, Mr. Gritting!
I've got the best and dearest husband as
well!"

"Now, Peggy," said the young man, with

a little grin. "Now, Peggy, you'll have Mr.
Gritting thinking we're not the old married
couple he knows we are! Is that all, Mr.
Gritting?"

"Yes," said Sol, "that's all. Queer story,
warn't it! Thar's a lot uh queer things hap-
pened around this old hotel, but I guess
that's the queerest. Uh course in them days
folks warn't as pertickler as they is now
about killin' an' things! Thar warn't much
trouble about the inquest. The paper the
young feller had written before he died ex-
plained all that was wanted. He was buried
in Santa Teresa. Uh course, Mrs. Wainton
an' Mr. Wainton, the names that they went
by here wasn't their real names! I know
that right enough, an' that's about all that
I do know fer certain. Sometimes I'd think
that I'd dreamt everything . . . but fer
the bullet mark in the wall! That . . .
yes, an' the picture. Say, Mrs. Wainton,
mebbe you'd be interested in seein' a photo
I got uh the girl. An' as far as that goes,
I got a heap uh photographs in the cupboard
that I'd like you to see . . . some uh the
place an' some uh folks I've had stayin'
here. You ain't too tired, are you, Mrs.
Wainton?"

"I am rather tired now," said the girl
with a little shiver. "I don't know what's
wrong with me to-night, Tony, but I feel
creepy. I've felt like th t ever since I came
into the room. I told you, didn't I? Hello!
there's Mrs. Drackett . . . did you want
me, Mrs. Drackett?"

"Mrs. Wainton," she said, "I thought,
mebbe, you'd like me to take some hot
water upstairs . . . would you be going up
soon?"

"I'm coming right now, Mrs. Drackett.
Tony, I'm almost asleep. No, you wait
where you are. Mr. Gritting, I'll say good-
night. Thank you for telling me all about
that poor little girl ... I think I'll wait
and look at the photographs in the morning,
but my husband would like to see them,
I'm sure. You would, Tony, wouldn't
you!"

"You bet your life, Mr. Gritting . . .
why, of course!"

And so Sol seated himself in front of the
fire with the book of photographs in his lap
and talked of men and women who had
stayed at his hotel years before and had
gone away, leaving as the sole reminder of
their existence their pictures and perhaps
their names. He had plenty to say. His
memory had never been better. Long-for-
gotten anecdotes came back to him. It was,
he felt, difficult to know where to stop.

"Yes, Mr. Wainton, it's remarkable how
seein' these pictures brings things back to
me . . . guess I could go on talkin' from
now till mornin' ..."

He looked up suddenly to find the young
man yawning.

"Mebbe," he said politely, "you're too
tired, Mr. Wainton, to see any more!"

"No ... go right ahead. I'm most in-
terested."

But there was in his voice, Sol knew,
something that implied that he was forcing
himself to do his duty, out of politeness, and
after that Sol's enthusiasm went. The
quicker he finished, the better for both of
them. He should have waited until the
morning.

He turned over a page in the book and
picked up a small photograph mounted on
thin cardboard.

"This is her I was talkin' about,' he
said. The girl's face gazed at him wistfully
out of the picture, just as he had seen her
years before when she had imagined no one
was watching her. "Purty, ain't she?" he
said. "My wife found the photo in the room
after that poor young feller cashed in. Ed

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Photograph

(Continued)

Arlock, the dep'ty sheriff, he allowed we'd
put it aside an' not let his folks have it,
seein' perhaps they didn't know nothin'
about the girl. An' then two year after,
the girl herself wrote an' said her husband
was dead an' she was free at last an' she an'
her little girl was livin' in San Francisco
. . . would I write to her? She never give
me her name. I never asked. I wrote care
of the Post Office, San Francisco . . .an'
sent her the things she'd left, but not the
picture. Ellen asked her if we might keep
it, as a kind uh memento, an' she wrote
back an' said that we could. Purty, ain't
she, Mr. Wainton?"

"May I look at it a minute?" said the
young man. He took the picture into his
hands.

"That's just how she was, Mr. Wainton,
when she was here. Appearances was ag'in
her, mebbe, but I don't care. Thar warn't
a better nor a truer girl in the world than
her . . . Is anything the matter, Mr. Wain-
ton? You're lookin' queer . . ."

"No," said the young man in what Sol
considered a strained, unnatural voice:
"no, Mr. Gritting . . . it's the heat of the
room, I guess. And so this is the girl, is it?
I see . . . pretty, isn't she? you're right ..."

"You bet! She must have had that took
soon after she married that pizen skunk of a
husband uh hers. Seems kind of old-fash-
ioned to us, don't she? But I guess if we
was to see Mrs. Wainton dressed up in them
same clothes an' wearin' her hair done that
ways, we'd be surprised how diff'rent she'd
look! An' come to think of it, Mrs. Wainton
ain't unlike the picture herself, anyways, is
she? Say, I never seen it before, but ain't
that a wonderful likeness? Only that Mrs.
Wainton ain't so dark an' she's taller! Why,
Mr. Wainton, what's wrong with you?"

THE young man's head and shoulders fell
forward limply, as though he were no
longer able to sit upright. His fingers relaxed
and opened and he let the picture slip into
the fire.

Sol gave a cry of horror and made a wild,
despairing clutch at his treasure. But he
was too late. He drew back his hand swiftly
from the scorching heat and with bitterness
in his heart saw the paper and cardboard
shrivel into black nothingness in the midst
of the flame.

"It's gone," he said, "jest gone! Mr.
Wainton, sir, what in thunder was you
thinkin' of . . ."

The young man put his hands to his fore-
head. He seemed to be in pain. For a mo-
ment he did not answer.

Sol watched him in dull amazement.

"I wouldn't uv had that happen fer any-
thing," he said. "What did you do it fer,
Mr. Wainton?"

"It was an accident, of course!"

An accident! Only the deep-rooted feel-
ing that there could be no possible reason
for the young man wanting to destroy a
photograph of a girl who was a grown
woman before he was born kept Sol from
saying that he did not believe what was
told him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Gritting. I ... I felt
queer . . . dizzy . . ."

"I'm sorry, too," said Sol gloomily.
"Twenty-two years I had that picture, an'
now it's gone. The only one in the world,
too, I guess. Mrs. Wainton will be dis-
appointed she didn't see it!"

"How do you know?" asked the young
man. "I shouldn't be too sure about that,
Mr. Gritting."

Sol was more puzzled than ever.

"You mean, mebbe, thar's other folks got
copies uh the girl's picture, hey! It ain't
likely, not after all this time, is it?"

HAi»**

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The Photograph

(Concluded)

"Why, no, perhaps not! Perhaps not,
Mr. Gritting! And perhaps the poor thing's
dead by now, anyway!"

"Not as I know of," said Sol, wondering
why the young man was looking at him so
strangely. "I heard from her last month!"

"Last month, hey! Oh! And didn't you
say there was a little girl, Mr. Gritting
. . . a daughter?"

Sol, who felt that no one had ever had a
better right to feel hurt and angry and dis-
gusted, nodded his head sulkily. "Yeh, an'
I guess it was havin' her, Mr. Wainton,

what made life less like hell than it might uv
been! She's a woman now ... a real
beauty, her mother sez, an' goin' to be mar-
ried! I'd like to see her, Mr. Wainton
... I sure would. But I never will. It
wouldn't do, would it?"

"No," said the young man slowly: "no,
Mr. Gritting, it wouldn't do!"

He rose to his feet, then, and stood gazing
down at Sol with a grim little smile on his
lips and a look in his eyes that seemed in
some mysterious way to be asking a ques-
tion.

Plays and Players

(Continued from page 79)

TIS not only stars who when elevated to
heights become temperamental.

The boys are telling this one around the
Athletic Club on Bernie Fineman, manager
for Katherine MacDonald.

A friend called him at the studio on the
telephone recently on a business matter.

The cool voice of the telephone girl came
back from the other end of the wire, " Sorry,
but Mr. Fineman is at his exercises in the
handball court."

Half an hour later, the friend called
again and again the distant voice remarked,
" You can't speak to Mr. Fineman now, he's
in the shower."

Still later; "Mr. Fineman can't come to
the phone just now. He's being rubbed."

Whereupon the friend decided to quit,
not knowing just where he might find
Bernie next time.

But it sounds like a nice life, doesn't it?

POMONA, a small town near Los Angeles,
voted April 4th on Sunday "Blue
Laws, " including the closing of all
theaters and amusements on Sunday.

The proposed closing ordinance carried
by 43 votes.

That is considered the opening wedge in
the campaign for Blue Sunday laws, since
it is said that the forces in favor of a closed
Sunday watched the results carefully to
judge by the outcome as to whether to
start similar fights in other towns.

The fact that Pomona is so near Holly-
wood, the home of the motion picture in-
dustry, made it a vitally telling point. If
they could close Pomona, they could close
any place.

They closed Pomona.

There will now be nothing to do in
Pomona on Sunday but walk out to the
cemetery, sneak off and spoon, or sleep.
Your neighbors will complain if you play
the phonograph.

But here, so they say, is a story behind
a story, and it illustrates once again what
it seems prohibition should have finally
illustrated. The people who believe that
if they close everything up on Sunday idle
hands will find nothing but good to do, are
united.

They have "got together. "

So had the prohibitionists.

But apparently the people who believe
in happiness on Sunday just as well as on
any other day; who believe that innocent
amusement is legitimate rest, haven't.
Among them are, naturally, the motion
picture producers.

The day before the Pomona Blue Laws
election was Sunday. On Sunday the
Pomona forces who wanted to defeat the
Blue Laws had planned a big open air rally
to be held in the town square.

The star of this meeting was to be Will
Rogers, who, with all his inimitable wit
and humor, was to speak against the Sun-
day closing of theaters. Rogers was chosen

both because as a speaker he is without an
equal, and because his home life and per-
sonal character are so high that he would
have the respect of the most critical.

Rogers had consented to go and to speak.

But—

Saturday afternoon whoever happened
to be in charge of the Goldwyn lot, said
to be one Abraham Lehr, decided that Will
Rogers had to work on Sunday. The pic-
ture was behind schedule.

Now, the fight in Pomona was being
conducted chiefly by First National forces
since two of the three theaters there be-
longed to them. Immediately McCor-
mack and Wilson, of First National, tele-
phoned frantically to Mr. Lehr. They ex-
plained the importance of this election
nationally. They explained that Rogers
was the only man who would do. They
plead.

Mr. Lehr said that sixty extra people
had been called, etc. — it didn't seem pos-
sible to call off work for Sunday.

First National got together. They phoned
Mr. Lehr again and stated that they would
send him immediately a certified check for
the amount of the day's overhead — extra
people, Rogers' salary for a day, the studio
expense and all, figuring it would amount to
about $15,000.

Lehr was stumped. He couldn't take
the check without branding himself. He
didn't seem able to take the responsibility
for calling off the day's work and putting
that expense on his company.

He told them to call again in fifteen
minutes.

They did, Mr. Lehr had gone out and
wouldn't be back. He wasn't at home.
He had disappeared.

And the Blue Laws carried in Pomona by
43 votes. If Will Rogers couldn't swing
43 votes in any town, I'm a Mugwamp.

Not so good — not so good !

THINGS are quite "het up" round the
Christie lot.

We don't know exactly what happened,
but certainly somebody had a fight.

Anyway, Bobby Vernon has filed suit
for a whole lot of money in the courts of
Los Angeles, because he declares that
Charlie Christie, brother of Al, and Harry
Edwards, studio manager for the comedy lot,
beat him up and threw him out on his ear —
as it were.

He further says that he's a little bit of a
fellow and that both Christie and Edwards
are big men, and that they just naturally
picked on him. All this in his suit of dam-
ages for assault and battery.

So far nothing much has been said by
the defendants.

And anyway, it seems to have been a
private fight and probably isn't any of our
business.

After all, it's Mr. Christie's studio.
(Continued on page 102)

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

ioi

She Laughed
'Til She Cried!

(Continued from page 27)

But she does not act upon impulse —
this daughter of a new era and a new art .

Now, of course, it is perfectly true that
there are no two things in the world so
closely allied as laughter and tears.

If you laugh long enough you will even-
tually cry.

If you poke a baby in the ribs he will
laugh. If you poke harder, he will weep.

Marie Prevost has spent the three years of
her picture existence in comedy. From the
screen she has twinkled merrily through the
mazes of slap-stick, delighting with her
charming self and decorating very exten-
sively the entertainment provided by her
producer. She has been a gay and giddy
little figure on the silversheet. She has worn
her bathing suit more than well.

Undoubtedly she has the real comedy in-
stinct. She has managed the difficult feat of
being funny without looking funny.

I believe she likewise has the insf'net for
pathos. I am convinced that she possesses
that rare and wonderful combination of
talents that can make you laugh with a lump
in your throat and smile with tears on your
cheeks. It is a dramatic gift that has risen
to its heights in Laurette Taylor and Charles
Spencer Chaplin.

If she has it, she can take the earth in her
small hand and juggle it about almost any
way she pleases.

"I cry easily, "she said half-shamedly. "If
anything happens to babies, or little ani-
mals, or old people, it makes the tears come
to my eyes, even if it isn't very serious.
And — it's strange — but little things, hurts,
humiliations, baby tears, always seem to
affect me most."

(And, you see, that is the instinct for
pathos as differentiated from tragedy, as I
take it.)

She is French-Canadian, with a dash — a
very big dash — of Irish.

I am sure that much of her talent — or
genius if she proves it such — comes from her
sorrowing, laughing, hot-headed ancestors.

Her hair is blue black, and has a big soft
wave. Her eyes are a sparkling gray-blue,
sometimes all blue, sometimes all gray,
sometimes even a bit green, and their ex-
pression is very, very merry. Her skin is
white, instead of creamy, and her mouth is
little and red and quite pathetic itself.

She uses her hands when she talks with
the abandon of a Frenchwoman. She has a
freedom from self-consciousness that is a
heritage from the French side, I'm sure.

She lives with her mother and sister, who
is younger than she is and also in pictures.

"I am glad — glad to be out of comedy,"
she said as she told me that she had followed
in the footsteps of such famous predecessors
as Betty Compson, Mary Thurman and
Gloria Swanson and left the slap-stick for
more serious form of entertainment and
drama, "but just the same I wouldn't take
a million dollars for the training I had. It
gives you sureness and technique that noth-
ing else on earth can give you.

"But I don't like comedy. I never read it
and seldom go to see a comedy. I'd like best
to do light drama — or comedy-drama with a
bit of heart interest."

Personally, since Miss Taylor has refused
to immortalize her own divine portrayal of
Peg, I should like to see Marie Prevost as a
screen "Peg o' my Heart." And I have an
idea that's just the sort of thing that within
the next five years will land her along side
her former companions in comedy who have
reached stardom with their more serious
efforts.

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102

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Plays and Players

{Concluded from page 100)

A LOS ANGELES paper in an announce-
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SUNSET INN still rambles merrily along.
Anyone that wants to see the festive
movie at play, can make a trip down there
on the now famous Photoplayer's Night —
Wednesday — and be sure of getting inti-
mate glimpses of the screen great.

Last Wednesday night — which by the
way, in all modesty, we wish to say was
Photoplay Magazine Night, with a Photo-
play Magazine Cup presented for the danc-
i ing contest — was a large evening.

At one table I saw Roscoe Arbuckle — at
least he was at the table when he wasn't
playing the drums for the orchestra — with
Katherine Fitzgerald, Lottie Pickford, in a
brown crepe de chine frock put together
with wide hemstitching, Rubye de Remer,
who wore a bewitching little blue silk hat
turned back from her blond hair, Texas
Guinan, in blue, black and orchid sequins
(what there was of it, though when she sat
down you actually couldn't do much in
the way of description for a fashion column),
Gertie Neilan, Jack Pickford, Alan Forrest
and some others I didn't know.

And I saw pretty Mary Thurman, in a
Quaker-cut, short- skirted frock of opal-
green-blue, that set off her hair to perfec-
tion. Phyllis Haver was in iridescent
sequins, with a big picture hat of black and
gray, while Peggy Elinor wore mauve
chiffon, with a dainty, brilliant hat of
green ornamented with feathers.

Bryant Washburn and his wife, and How-
ard Hickman and Bessie Barriscale, Bessie
in black net simply made with a brilliant
girdle of old rose and silver, were together,
and Priscilla Dean and Wheeler Oakman
had a party of guests. Priscilla had on a
marvellous hat — one of the daring kind she
effects so much lately — a black velvet, fitted
close to her head, with an enormous orange
bird of paradise on the front of it. Her
gown was black, too.

Lois Wilson was there with Kenneth
Hawkes, looking demure and lovely in a
sport outfit — a skirt of white and a rose
silk sweater, with a silk sport hat. And
Louise Glaum, with some unknown gentle-
man, had a side table — Louise always is
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REMEMBER-

Every advertisement in PHOTO-
PLAY is guaranteed, not only by
the advertiser, but by the publisher.
When you write to advertisers please
mention that you saw the advertise-
ment in PHOTOPLAY.

with brilliant red plaid, and her bright red
sailor, were very effective.

Viola Dana was there, too, very chic,
and May Allison, in a black taffeta frock
with one of those rounded, outstanding
necks cut low, and a perky little blue and
silver hat, with ?. cockade in front. Tony
Moreno was with a stag party against the
wall, but he managed quite a lot of dancing,
and Tony is the loveliest dancer.

I was surprised to see the stately Mary
Alden, in black velvet with a black lace
evening hat, enjoying a bit of night life
with some society folk from the Los Angeles
country club.

Wallace Beery was there, too, with a
very pretty girl, and Mr. and Mrs. Watter-
son R. Rothacker had a party of guests
at a large table. Marie Prevost, in white
satin and floating tulle, with pearls in her
hair, was so bridal it gave me quite a start,
but she assures me it's only sartorial.

As I said, it was a large evening.

JOHN'S, the famous all night restaurant
in Hollywood, where the rovers of the
colony are wont to gather at all hours of the
day and night — chiefly night — had to be
disciplined a bit by the good-natured
police department, recently.

It seems that the boys, quite innocently,
used to fling plates around, conduct en-
semble musical numbers in various and
varied keys, and engage in friendly, but
often profane and thrilling rough-and-
tumbles.

So John had to ask 'em to key down a
bit, because the "long hair" element
thought they were too noisy.

Well, it's a dry and harmless place, after
all, is John's, and people who are doing
anything very devilish don't generally
make quite so much fuss about it.

"I'M not ready yet, I couldn't get an ap-
1 pointment for my wig. "

Mae Busch was telling Eric Von Stro-
heim's 52nd assistant director about it.

It seems when you wear a wig in a picture
you have to get it marcelled and dressed and
washed just like your own head.

And if the lady in Hollywood who dresses
wigs happens to be too busy to take your wig,
you can't play.

JACKIE COOGAN, better known as
"The Kid, " paid income tax on $52,000,
according to government rsports.

That boy's going to be a help to his folks
when he grows up.

The Shadow Stage

(Concluded from page 68)

WHAT'S YOUR REPUTATION
WORTH ?— Vitagraph

HERE is an entertaining Corinne Griffith
production, despite the title. The
scenes are laid in New York, with gay
glimpses of Broadway night life, and in the
wintry silences of the New England hills.
Quite worth an hour's time.

THE PLAYTHING OF BROAD-
WAY—Realart

JUSTINE JOHNSTONE is a smart girl.
She knows that beauty is only screen
deep; that pretty profiles do not a picture
make, nor close-ups guarantee a hit.
Therefore she, and her advisers, have
insisted upon a good story and a good cast,
and found both in "The Plaything of

Broadway." True, the frail flapper who is
swept into the Broadway whirl before she
knows it, is a common enough heroine on
the screen. Meeting her as she kicks her
way through the first reel we know that
sooner or later she will go in search of her
soul and a simple grey house gown, and
probably that the prattle of innocent
children will revive her interest in the
maternal instincts she has permitted Broad-
way to smother. But if it is half way
interestingly told it is invariably a human
story of as definite and certain an appeal
as any of them. Miss Johnstone, in her
pretty profiles and somewhat studied close-
ups, is complete mistress of the fluffy
cabaret scenes. Crauford Kent gives an
excellent performance as her leading man.
But why the title?

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Jam Tomorrow —
No Jam Today"

{Continued from page 61)
will ever recover any of their funds.

Photoplay has always maintained t hat
the legitimate American film industry was
sound financially and morally and no
stronger proof could be had of this conten-
tion than the manner in which the industry
has weathered the financial gales of the past
few months. Comparatively few legitimate
film companies have failed or suspended
business. Nearly all of them have had to
retrench but the soundness of the industry
may best be gauged by the fact that only a
few bankruptcies have occurred. It is like-
wise worthy of note that while production
has been curtailed in quantity, the quality
has not been affected. In fact, American
motion picture companies produced a
greater number of artistic pictures during
the last six months of 1°20 and the first six
months of 1921 than during any other
i welve months in the historyof the industry.

Photoplay's campaign has been without
malice against any single individual or com-
pany. This magazine has merely stated the
facts, and the facts were bad enough. It has
selected carefully a few of the most inter-
esting cases of stock promotion to show the
different methods pursued by different pro-
moters. But there is no great variety of
working methods. After you have analyzed
a dozen stock sales circulars and talked to
the promoters of the companies, you know
the stories of practically all of these ven-
tures. To relate the story of every one of
these wild financial and business ventures
would mean telling the same story over and
over again with a few minor details which
may vary in the cases of the individual
companies. Photoplay does not propose to
bore its readers with such repetitions.
What we have done is to offer sufficient
proof that a company started by the public
sale of stock is simply doomed to failure.
The cost of such financing is utterly prohib-
itive. It is never less than 40 to 50 per cent
of the total capital. Even D. W. Griffith
could not make money for his stockholders
if he had to pay $500,000 in commissions for
every million dollars worth of stock sold.

In closing this series of articles, Photo-
play wants to thank the Federal and local
authorities for the assistance they have
given the magazine in the course of its inves-
tigation. Photoplay especially wishes to
acknowledge the cordial cooperation it has
received from the Associated Advertising
Clubs of the World. Throughout its cam-
paign this magazine has cooperated with
the Vigilance Committee of the National
Association of the Motion Picture Industry
of which Mr. James R. Quirk, Editor of
Photoplay, is the chairman. The legiti-
mate motion picture industry of this coun-
try realizes today as it has never done before
that it is more vitally concerned than any-
one else in cleaning its own house.

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today than at any time since we've been
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"I decided six months ago that we
needed a new manager. At that time
Gordon, there, was one of the youngest men
in the office and was pegging away at a
small job. But when I starced checking up
around here I found he was handling that
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"I brought him into the office one day
and started to draw him out. What do
you suppose I discovered ? For more than
two years he had been studying with the
International Correspondence Schools at
Scranton. Prepared his lessons in the
evening and during noon hour.

"I kept him talking for nearly three
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and training Gordon was years ahead of
any man in the office.

"So I gave him the job. We pay him
$100 a week, and I have an idea it's the
best investment the house ever made!"

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io4

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Prize Contest

The famous Lester Park-Edward Whiteside photo-
play. " Empty Arms." is creating a sensation. It
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contains only one verse and a chorus. A good
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best one submitted a prize of SoOO OO c:i*h will be
paid. This contest is open to everybody. You
simply write the words for a second verse— it is
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The Lost Romance

{Continued from page 41)

THE honeymoon of Allen Erskine and his
bride was as rich with romantic happi-
ness as Sylvia's heart could desire and so
passed in equal joys the first year of their
married life. As a rising young physician
Allen made rapid progress and growing
reputation. There were times when the call
of duty and the call of love conflicted but
they faced their little daily problems bravely
and with common sense that is not common
at all. And then came Allen Erskine, Jr., a
loving child of loving parents.

Five years slipped by, bringing their
inevitable changes and the accumulation of
the little things of life that, like the dust of
years, dim the windows that look into the
Garden of Romance.

The final issue seemed to come when an
opportunity arose for Allen to advance his
medical fame by participation in a famous
case just at a time made inopportune and
unfortunate in its interference with a
planned excursion to San Francisco. Sylvia,
worn and weary of the mending and house-
hold accounting and tiresome details of the
business of living, had counted largely on
this trip. To Allen his profession was every-
thing. There was conflict and bitter words
and tears.

At this juncture, right into the middle of
this scene in fact, came Aunt Betty from
peaceful La Acacia.

Little Allen, now called "Junior," was
trying his best to play on the floor and be
happy, despite his child's sense of some-
thing wrong.

Sylvia tried to dry her eyes and smile as
of old when Aunt Betty came in. And
Allen tried to be busy, whistling in pre-
tended unconsciousness that was more than
a betrayal.

Aunt Betty pulled them together. She
was cheerful, firm and determined. They
were to her just children.

"Come now — tell me all about it."
And like children they tried to tell the
story — each with a side.

"It isn't giving up the trip for your work
that I mind, "sobbed Sylvia. "It's knowing
the Romance is dead — you've stopped
caring! "

Aunt Betty laughed at them and stopped
the argumentative recital,

"So Romance and Love are both dead!
And life is hopeless!" Her air was one of
mock despair.

"Why, my dears," Aunt Betty went on,
"you have let the little things of life cover
up your romance until you think it is lost —
but really the only thing you have lost is
your sense of humor."

Sylvia started to interrupt, tears coming
to her eyes again in a flood.

"No— don't say a word." Aunt Betty's
manner was commanding. "I want you
two to visit me — just you two alone, and
you will find your lost Romance where you
found it first — in my garden."

"You think we can?" Sylvia's manner
was hopeful and hopeless both at once.

"Of course — sillies!" Aunt Betty's con-
fidence was encouraging.

Allen and Sylvia tried their best when
they arrived at Aunt Betty's for their visit
alone, and with Allen, Jr., left behind in the
care of Matilda, the maid.

But the first evening at La Acacia found
Allen stretched out on a sofa by the fire in
a most unromantic attitude, smoking a pipe
and reading a newspaper when Sylvia came
down, daintily gowned in an evening dress.
Allen did not notice her.

Sylvia wandered out into the patio and
seated herself on a bench, a garden rose in
her hand. She started to put the rose in
her hair, then dropped her hand again in a
hopeless attitude. What was the use? She
sat there dejected.

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The Lost Romance

105

(Continued)

Before she could speak Allen startled at
something he saw in the paper. He looked
up suddenly and discovering Aunt Betty
there demanded her attention for the paper
too. Together they leaned over an article
that told of the return of Mark, gone for
more than five years in the wilds of the
Upper Amazon forests of South America.
They read it eagerly together in real joy.
The article ended, there came a pause.

Allen sighed.

"Mark's life must be one glorious adven-
ture of Romance."

"Come, cheer up." Aunt Betty was
chiding. "Everyone's life could be if they
only wouldn't forget. Now you didn't read
the paper when she was in the garden six
years ago."

Allen looked up at Aunt Betty and
groaned.

"Now go out to her — like a good boy."
Aunt Betty was compelling.

Allen rose, doggedly straightening his
collar and smoothing his hair as he went out.

Left alone, Aunt Betty picked up the
paper again and hungrily reread the account
of Mark's return, her heart reaching out to
him.

As Allen stepped into the garden Sylvia
was swept by a little nervous anticipation.
She tried to make herself ready, tried to
feel the zest and interest and coquetry that
she had felt on that same spot there six
years before. She took a dreamy attitude,
a delicious thrill coming over her. Allen
came up and stood behind her, saying
nothing.

Sylvia sat still, her heart beating with
anticipation. What was he going to sur-
prise her with? She was eager to know.
She waited. Nothing happened. Slowly
she turned around. Allen was standing
there winding his watch. He covered a
yawn with his hand and sat down beside her.

Sylvia struggled to hide her disappoint-
ment. She raised the rose in her hand to
her face, passing it over her lips. Allen
frowned down at her.

"I wouldn't keep inhaling that thing —
they're apt to give you hay fever this time
of the year."

Romance was crushed.

Sylvia started plucking the rose to bits.

At the front entrance and out of sight
from the garden, John, the butler, greeted a
visitor, who stopped finger on lip, cautioning
the old servant to silence. It was Mark
Sheridan, the long wandering adventurer
and explorer.

"Where is Elizabeth — let me surprise
her."

John indicated he living room and Mark
strode in.

At the door Mark saw Aunt Betty sitting
on a couch with the paper in her lap. He
tiptoed in behind her and softly pulling a
rose from the vase 0.1 the adjacent table,
silently he reached over and strew the paper
in her lap with rose petals. That was the
touch of Romance.

Aunt Betty looked up in surprise and a
great glowing smile of radiance dawned in
her eyes as she recognized Mark.

"Am I welcome — dear Lady of the
Roses? "

Aunt Betty stood up and faced him,
longing to say all that was in her heart.

"Yes — Mark — yes."

He leaned over and kissed her hand.

" You are all right, Mark?"

"Yes, indeed."

Out in the garden sat Allen and Sylvia.
Sylvia was trying her best to revive the old
mood of the lost romance of six years agone.

"Just think, Allen — this is the very place
where we became engaged!"

Allen nodded but made no response.
Tears welled into Sylvia's eyes. Allen

looked at her curiously and 1 hen with an
air that had resignation and effort in it but
no poetry, he put his arm about her. He
drew Sylvia closer. She looked into his
eyes in surprise. Then she cuddled up
closer.

"Damn it !" Allen snatched away his hand
and clutched at a finger.

"Don't you know enough to take the
pins out of your dress? "

Then both of them were more miserable
than ever. It seemed hopeless. They sat
together dull and still. Allen shifted about
uncomfortably and looked toward the
house.

"It's as chilly and damp as a graveyard
here — let's go in the house."

"Oh " Sylvia's voice was an utter-
ance of despair. She rose with a toss of
her head and started in. Allen followed.

Together they entered the living room
where Mark and Aunt Betty rose by the
lounge to greet them. Allen called out
joyously. Sylvia stood bewildered. Allen
and Mark shook hands effusively.

Sylvia stood back breathless — looking
toward Mark.

Slowly, awed, they approached each
other. Mark took Sylvia's two hands.

"I hope," he said slowly, "that the
happiness of these years has been as great
as you could have desired."

Sylvia's eyes faltered, but she offered a
brave smile with her "Yes."

Mark saw the truth.

Aunt Betty, ever a diplomat, called to
them to come and sit down.

Allen took a cigarette from Mark's
proffered case and presently the party was
listening while Mark talked of his many
adventures in the wilds of the Amazon.

Sylvia sat a little apart, absorbed in
listening, not to the tales he told but just
to Mark. There was a faraway, fascinated
look in her eyes. She idly twisted a corner
of her handkerchief. Mark, looking up in
a lull, caught her eyes and she flushed in
betrayal of her mood. Mark understood it
all too well. H2 resumed his story in a
forced lighter vein that was far from con-
vincing. Allen pinched at his cigarette
until it broke. There was a sense of tense-
ness over them all.

Days passed and the situation did not
change. Mark and Sylvia, outwardly calm,
were both living again tumultuously in their
hearts the romance that had ended those
years ago — and trying to deafen their ears
to the ww call of the now.

It was late in the afternoon of the closing
days of their visit that Aunt Betty came
upon Sylvia playing the piano alone, with
a photograph of Mark on the music rack
before her. Sylvia looked up.

"You've been wonderful to us — but it is
no use, Aunt Betty. We haven't found
what we came for a ";d we had better go
home."

Aunt Betty's eyes took in Sylvia, who
looked wistfully at the picture of Mark
before her on the piano.

" I am sorry — but perhaps it is better, my
dear." Aunt Betty was depressed. She
had all but given up. She went out to
leave Sylvia with her thoughts.

It was there that Mark found Sylvia, a
fateful circumstance. It was a moment
inspired of dangerous destiny.

Alark stood looking gloomily at Sylvia.
She read his mood and ventured to speak.
It was not as though she were addressing
him, but rather unconsciously giving
audible expression to her thoughts.

" Does romance ever come true for more
than a short year or two?"

Then realizing that she had said too much
Sylvia looked away in embarrassment.

"If I could only prove to you that it

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The Lost Romance

(Cont

does!" Mark whispered it in a voice
husky with passion.

Sylvia looked at him tremulously and
Mark read the glimmer of hope in her eyes.
She wanted the proof.

He gripped her arm. At the contact the
pent up emotions of the years burst into
flame. They were swept into embrace with
a sudden devastating surge of feeling.

Then Mark held her away from him a
little and looked into her half-closed eyes.

"Sylvia, are you sure?"

She nodded and buried her face in his
shoulder.

"Then we must tell Allen."

This brought Sylvia up with a realization
of a new ordeal to pass.

"Tomorrow?" she whispered.

"No. Now!" Mark was dominant and
decisive.

The first step was made for them when
Allen entered the room and seeing Sylvia
clutching at Mark's arm, half sensed the
truth.

Sylvia looked at Allen wild-eyed, gripping
herself to face the crisis without outward
flinching.

Mark indicated to Allen that he had
something to say.

Allen came up to them.

"What is it?" His voice was dry and
cold, yet anxious.

Mark paused long.

"Allen — I'd rather it had been anyone
else but you— but Sylvia and I "

Allen clutched the table to hold himself
steady.

Aunt Betty came down the steps and
stood a moment at the landing overlooking
the tragic scene from above. At last she
spoke.

"So it has come."

Her words broke the tense immobility of
the situation.

Allen straightened up quietly.

"If this means Sylvia's happiness, I'll give
her her freedom."

The three stood still after those words.
There was a wave of relief and regret across
Mark's features.

Aunt Betty approached. She looked
from one to another, then addressed herself
to all of them.

"You don't realize what you are doing.
You are all three caught in a whirl of false
values and you are allowing this trick of
emotions to cover the real things of life."

Mark made a move toward Sylvia, as
though by action to protect their love.
Aunt Betty arrested him with her eyes.

"Allen," Aunt Betty went on, "you have
been unhappy because you thought that
Sylvia didn't care. But she does love you —
only she's blinded — and now you are allow-
ing your imagination to keep you from
protecting her."

Allen looked bewildered and helpless.

"You — you see she doesn't love me."

Aunt Betty swung about to Sylvia.

"You are only believing in a mirage —
destroying the real things in this headlong
rush toward what will prove only an
illusion. When you come to where you
thought it was the realization will be doubly
bitter."

Sylvia resentfully shook her head. She
looked at Allen and primitively hated him
in that second because he was not fighting
for her. He yielded, she thought, too
easily.

"Once, Aunt Betty," she said, "I did
believe in an illusion. I found it empty.
But now I have found reality and I am
not afraid."

Aunt Betty turned to the table. She had
one more card to play. She took up a
snapshot picture there of Allen, Junior.
"Then this little child of yours and

inned)

Allen's is only a part of the illusion which
you said had brought you only emptiness?"

Sylvia flushed with a flash of pained
feeling.

"No — I — I — ." There was nothing she
could say.

Mark's face grew deeply sober at the
thought of the child. Allen turned away,
bitter.

"What of the child?" Aunt Betty was
pushing her point.

Allen swung about and reached for the
photograph.

"No!" Sylvia spoke up eagerly. "He is
mine!"

Allen's face flamed with pain and anger
at the man behind his wife. He glared at
them. Sylvia raised pleading eyes.

"I am his mother — he needs me."

Allen relaxed. "Yes," he said, "you are
right."

"Aunt Betty," Sylvia spoke softly and
despairingly, "I am going to my room."

Sylvia went slowly up the steps. Allen
wandered out through a doorway, heedless
of where he was bound.

Aunt Betty faced Mark. She was fired
with an inspiration as she stood, the picture
of Junior in her hand.

"Mark, are you sure that Sylvia loves
you? That what she thinks is her love will
stand through any crisis?"

Mark nodded. "What crisis," he said
slowly, "could be greater than this one?"

"I wonder, too," she said. And so she
left him.

Three miserable people spent that after-
noon, each alone, steeling resolves against a
new attack by Aunt Betty. It was a day
of woe at La Acacia.

Late in the day, Sylvia had finished
packing her bags. She stood in her room
hat and coat in hand, sighing at the realiza-
tion that she was so soon to leave the place
that had wrought such great changes in
her life.

Mark was pacing the floor in the big
living room. Presently all the actors in
this tense tragedy of life had gathered
there. It was the time of leave-taking,
the miserable conclusion of a wreck of
happiness and friendships.

Xo one knew what to say. Farewell
formulas seemed empty and inadequate.
Aunt Betty was strangely agitated.

The telephone rang and the jangle of the
bell startled them.

A maid entered and picked up the
receiver.

"An important message for the doctor or
Mrs. Erskine." The maid stood holding
out the receiver.

Allen hastened to the phone. He was
suddenly alert.

"What's that?"

Another silence. All eyes turned to
Allen at the phone.

Allen hung up the receiver and faced
about, breathless, desperate.

"Junior's lost — Matilda can't find him!"

Sylvia dashed past Aunt Betty and Mark
to Allen at the phone.

"No, no — he can't be!" She cried, out
through tears.

Mark came forward. His manner told
his eagerness to help. He felt strangely
helpless.

Sylvia clutched at Allen's arm. Mark
touched her and she did not respond, she
merely looked at him an appreciation of
knowing he was sorry.

Allen picked up the phone and called the
police, giving a description of the boy.
Sylvia clung to him as he telephoned.
There was a great rift between them, but
primitively nothing but a mother in this
moment, she was absolutely at one with her
husband in this crisis.

Aunt Bettv signalled the maid to bring

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Lost Romance

(Continued)

her wraps. She was determined to go with
Allen and Sylvia on their quest of the miss-
ing bov. Mark walked about uneasily. He
spoke to Aunt Betty.

''Shall I go too?" He looked uneasily
at Sylvia and Allen.

"Certainly," Aunt Betty replied with a
voice full of meaning. "If you are the
man she really loves, she needs you now."

At Allen's home there followed the usual
line of inquiries from the police officer sent
out on the case. There was much cross
examination of Matilda, the maid, and
careful examination into circumstances —
all of which developed and indicated
nothing. A motor car had stopped in front
of the bungalow a moment. A few minutes
later Matilda could not find Junior. That
was all.

"It's a plain case of kidnapping," was the
policeman's diagnosis.

"Kidnapping!" Sylvia was wild-eyed in
terror. "Who would kidnap Junior?"

"I am going to the station with the
policeman," said Allen. "You stay and
watch the telephone." He started out.

Aunt Betty motioned to Mark.

"We had best leave Sylvia alone."

Then she turned to Sylvia.

"I'll be on the phone, dear, all night.
You will call me if you need me."

"Isn't there anything that I can do?"
It was Mark's last appealing word to Sylvia.

"Only find Junior." Sylvia had no
thought but for her child.

Mark drew near to her, but she pushed
him away. He yearned in vain to comfort
her.

"Not that now," she said.

Together Mark and Aunt Betty returned
to La Acacia.

After a time Allen returned.

"Have you any news?" Sylvia was eager
and hopeless both at once.

Allen shook his head. Sylvia came up
and took his arm, filled with a sudden
sympathy for his haggard weary face. She
led him toward the dining room. Together
they sat at the table. Neither tasted food.
Then came the vigil of the long night —
waiting — waiting — \ -airing. The telephone
was mute. No word.

Back at La Acacia Mark sat comfortless.
Refilling and knocking out a pipe that had
lost its power to soothe.

"Aunt Betty?"

"Yes, Mark."

"You said that if she loved me she would
need me now."

"Yes."

"But she does love me," Mark protested.
"She wants to spare Allen now. When the
boy is for.nd she will come back to me."
He looked at Aunt Betty defiantly.

"You think that?" Aunt Betty's ques-
tion was not a question. It was a comment
intended to set Mark to thinking.

At Allen's home Sylvia kneeled weeping
over the little empty bed in Junior's room.
Her hands clutched at a doll with which he
always went to sleep. Allen came in and
found her so. They were drawn together
over the child's bed, whispering each other's
names brokenly. They clung to each other.
In their common grief all else was forgotten.

In haulting pauses the debate between
Mark and Aunt Betty continued over the
way at- La Acacia. Presently Aunt Betty
reached a decision.

"Come," she said to Mark. Taking his
hand she led him outside to where they
could peer through a window into the room
occupied by John, the butler.

Mark gasped. There was Junior in the
bed with the butler, playfully kicking off
the covers as fast as the patient butler
could put them back. The youngster was
too excited at being at Aunt Betty's to go

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The Lost Romance

POPULARITY FOLLOWS THE

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Kill The Hair Root

(Continued)

to sleep and John was making half-hearted
attempts at discipline.

Mark turned from the window in amaze-
ment, lacing Aunt Betty.

"What does this mean?"

" I sent John to steal the child as the only
way to bring you three to your senses,"
Aunt Betty explained.

"I am going to phone Sylvia at once —
she shall not suffer a minute more," Mark
exclaimed. Aunt Betty put her hand on his
arm.

"Better one night of misery than a life-
time of it. If Sylvia and Allen do not keep
vigil for this child tonight, they will never
realize that they love each other as they
could love no one else." Aunt Betty was
appealing.

It was a critical moment. Aunt Betty
knew that this might mean the loss of
Mark's friendship forever. Neither would
yield.

"Mark — you shall take the boy back to
Sylvia in the morning. If you don't see
then that she and Allen belong to each other
— then I've nothing more to say."

Mark bowed his head in assent.

"She did not turn to you in her sorrow —
you shall see if she does in her joy."

When morning dawned at Allen's home it
found Sylvia on a couch and Allen in a
chair beside her. They faced each other.

" I could not have gone through this night
without you." Sylvia spoke to Allen with
the calmness of despair. There was a
mutual realization of their dependence upon
each other in the crisis.

Exhausted by their vigil they fell asleep,
Allen in his chair drawn close to Sylvia.

And while they were sleeping there Mark,
leading Junior by the hand, approached.
They stepped softly to the door. Mark
pointed to the sleepers.

"Go wake them up," he whispered to the
eager Junior.

The little lad tiptoed in. He brushed his
mother's face with his stubby fingers.
Mark stood in the door.

Sylvia's eyes opened and she sprang up
with a cry. She was afraid it was a dream.
She snatched the boy to her. Allen startled

awake and put his arms around his son.
Then he reached out and gathered mother
and boy to him. They ignored Mark.

As Sylvia and Allen embraced in an
ecstasy of joy, Mark turned his face away.

"But how did he get here?" Allen ex-
claimed at last.

Mark for answer stepped into the room
and handed to Allen a note from Aunt
Betty

"Forgive me," she had written.
"But you have lived a night with one
of the real things of life and you will
understand now the real romance."

Allen and Sylvia looked at each other as
they finished reading the note. There was
a moment's indecision. Then Allen
gathered the yielding Sylvia in his arms.

That was Mark's answer from them both.
Silently he left the room to return to
La Acacia.

Mark was in the living room with his
bags about him when Aunt Betty entered.
He was in traveling clothes.

"Sylvia forgives you," Mark said.

"And you — you are going away, Mark?"

"Yes." He took a leather photograph
case from his pocket. It held Sylvia's
picture — the one he had taken into the
Amazon wilds with him six years before.

"Even if she married me she would
always be the wife of little Allen's father,"
Mark said sadly.

"And does that hurt much?" Aunt Betty
spoke gently.

"Why, no!" Mark answered, surprised at
himself.

"Somewhere in this world you will find
your true romance."

"And when I do, will you let me tell you
about it?"

For answer Aunt Betty plucked a flower
and slipped it in his lapel.

Mark took her hand and kissed it. Then
looking back but once, he was off.

Elizabeth Erskine, looking after him,
smiled and nodded to herself. In her wis-
dom she knew that some day he would
come back to her.

"Heap Much Life!"

My method ie the only irai to p rev
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Write today, enclosing 3 stamps We teach lleanty Culture
D. I. MAHLER. 197- X Mahler Park, Providence, R. I.

DURING the filming of "Bob Hampton
of Placer" in Glacier National Park
last fall, Marshall Neilan had mar-
shalled about four hundred Indians in the
Two Medicine Valley for the "shooting" of
the "Last Stand of Custer," which is the big
climax to the play. The older Indians
balked when the battery of motion picture
cameras was trained upon them. They
broke ranks and fought shy of the camera.
Neilan scented trouble and he called Chief
Johnny Ground, the interpreter.

"Braves think those camera machines
take their spirit away from them when
white men take their pictures," Chief
Ground explained.

The Chief, who had spent a couple of
years at Carlisle, continued, "I think we can
disabuse the minds of these fossilized
braves," he said (in just that English), to
Marshall Neilan whose face now siread a
smile as a feeling of confidence ii Chief
Ground seized him.

"You see," said Chief Ground "these
older members of the tribe can't sh ke off
that old Indian superstition concerning the
camera. But," he exclaimed, his eyes

sparkling humorously, "these motion pic-
tures are different! I have an idea — get a
reel of that film your men finished yester-
day, set up a projecting machine in the big
lounging chalet. We'll darken the place and
demonstrate to these doubters."

The entire band of Indians, all of whom
had rehearsed five days for the big battle
scene, gathered in the lounging chalet and
Chief Ground stood before the improvised,
bed-sheet ■ screen as the pictures of other
scenes in the play were shown.

"See!" exclaimed Chief Ground to his
tribesmen, "the camera, instead of taking
the spirit from the Indian puts more spirit
into the people whose pictures are taken for
the motion screen."

This was the operator's cue. He sped the
crank and the subjects projected upon the
screen moved with an alacrity that made the
erstwhile-doubting old braves grunt "ugh"
in a long drawn out chorus.

"Heap much life," they exclaimed in the
Blackfoot tongue as they hastened out of the
building and quickly lined up in battle for-
mation for the act, eager to get some of that
"new life action."

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

109

Plays and Players

(Continued from page 102)

THE story goes that Famous Players,
upon acquiring "Anne Boleyn," the
foreign picture, hesitated about changing
the title to something that would look
snappier in Broadway electrics. There has
been much criticism of late about the
flagrant changing of titles. So the officials
of Famous decided to see if the name of
"Anne Boleyn" would sell the picture.
Six stenographers were aske 1 who Anne
was anyway. One knew that she was one
of the wives of Henry VIII, but where
she came in the category couldn't say;
two knew she was an historical figure of
some kind, somewhere, and three asked
if she had ever worked for the company.

The 'new title of "Anne Boleyn" is "De-
ception.' '

THOUGH no official announcement has
been made as yet, rumors concerning
the engagement of Katherine MacDonald
to a well-known society and clubman of
Los Angeles are more persistent than ever.

These rumors are no doubt encouraged
by the openly-voiced theories of the famous
beauty herself.

Miss MacDonald's aspirations toward a
social career are well-known. Her favorite
role appears to be society queen rather than
screen star.

She has stated, 'tis said, on various
occasions, that she expects to work only
five years in pictures — time enough to
amass a considerable fortune — then retire
to lead the social life she so much prefers.

Pictures being but a necessary evil in
her plans, the American beauty doesn't
regard them very highly, according to
those who are close to her. She refuses to
play anything that touches the sordid, the
seamy side of life, no matter how dramatic.

However, the gentleman whom she has
chosen or will choose as prince consort for
her fashionable throne, is much to be envied.

For if her lack of desire and interest
have kept her from screen improvement,
Katherine MacDonald's beauty comes
nearer to reaching the deathless fame of
such names as Lillian Russell, Lily Langtry
and Maxine Elliot, than any other film
luminary.

THE reunion of Theodore Kosloff, fa-
mous dancer and screen artist, and his
wife and little daughter, after seven years

of separation and long months of battle
with the immigration authorities in New
York, has been touching in the extreme.
It has brought a beautiful response from
film circles in Hollywood, where the three
are now together again and are beginning
to build a home.

Kosloff came to this country seven years
ago, just before the war broke out. Un-
able to return, or to find trace of his family,
he suffered greatly until at last he discov-
ered their whereabouts and began the long
difficult struggle to get them out of Russia
during its turmoil, and bound for America.

This accomplished, another sorrow beset
them, when Mrs. Kosloff and the little
daughter were held at Ellis Island, because
of some spinal illness on the child's part.

At last Kosloff was able to convince the
government that the child would be cared
for — probably cured — and the little family-
were able to "begin life anew" in a charm-
ing bungalow in the foothills.

Mrs. Kosloff is a charming woman ot
great culture and bids fair to make a place
for herself among the film people who have
welcomed her so warm heartedly.

THERE are no new developments in the
Talmadge-Keaton betrothals. In fact,
they're saying that Natalie has decided
quite firmly that she doesn't want to be
engaged to Buster at all. But Buster is
coming to New York soon, and they do say
he is a jolly chap to have around the house.

MR. and Mrs. Jesse L. Lasky announce
the birth of a baby boy on March
26th, in Los Angeles. The Lasky's have
one son, a handsome youngster about ten
years old, and the new addition is causing
great joy in the household.

According to Mr. Lasky they had a ter-
rible time naming the young man. Having
bestowed Jesse L. Lasky junior on the first
son, nothing suggested itself.

"I almost decided to offer a prize to the
scenario department — or the whole studio —
for a name, as I do sometimes for the title
of a picture."

Finally, deciding that the baby had a
literary look and would possibly grow up
to be an author, they gave him a name he
wouldn't have to change:

William Raymond Lasky.

Quite an excellent nom de plomp, we'd say.

563^ Miles Per Hour

(Continued from page 54)

my gracious, 56>£ isn't so fast. Lots of
people drive faster. Look at Ralph de
Pal ma.

There were arguments by counsel. I
can tell that district attorney his wife
didn't need to sit so close to him. As far
as I was concerned he was as safe as a baked
ham in a synagogue. I'm sure he thought
because I earn my living in front of a camera
instead of behind a counter, 10 days in jail
would just be a foretaste for me of things
to come. If he meant all he said to me about
that jury, you could measure his mind the
narrow way of the tape measure.

The jury filed out. The door closed.
Even the days I have spent inside my cell
were not so soul -trying as the moments
while we waited. My scalp felt all prickly
and cold drops stood on my forehead. They
were out only three minutes. Well, I
don't see why it should take 'em any longer
to make up their minds. I knew I was
doomed as soon as I saw the solemn, shamed
expression on their faces.

"We find the defendant guilty as
charged."

Oh well, I suppose if you live in a small
town you get like that. I bet 56l/i miles

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FORMS FOR SEPTEMBER [SSUE CLOSE JULY FIRST

AGENTS AND SALESMEN

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Photoplay

56H> Miles Per Hour

(Continued)
an hour sounds awfully fast if you've been
driving a plow much.

Guilty!

One word, but it has changed the face
of the universe for me.

As the days went by, while my lawyer
did some things I didn't understand, I felt
I could stand it no longer. Like a sword
suspended above my head, it menaced my
every action. I found my whole life was
being ordered by the words, "after I go to
jail."

And something in me didn't want to
slip out on a silly technical point. I wanted
at least to be game. So when my picture
was finished I packed my nightie and came
down to get the darn thing off the slate.

"I know not whether Laws be right,

Or whether Laws be wrong;

All that we know who lie in gaol

Is that the wall is strong;

And that each day is like a year,

A year whose days are long. "

My cell is a little, narrow room, with
walls of corrugated iron painted a loath-
some yellow. There are two, small barred
windows — bars that blind the gracious
sunshine. As I stand at these grated case-
ments, I can see below the children on the
jail lawns, happy, carefree little folks who
stop on their way from school to look up at
my windows and wish me joy.

And my poor heart swells in answer to it
— for in sorrow one's heart is very soft, and
one's eyes are very clear, even when tears
dim them.

Of course, everybody has been wonder-
fully good to me. From the dark night
when, hidden by the kindly shadows, I
crept up to the door — I came at night be-
cause you see they count it a whole day if
you get in any time before midnight —
Mr. and Mrs. Lacey, the jailor and matron,
have done everything they could to make
me happy. In my cell, I have every com-
fort. The people of Santa Ana gave me a
lovely ivory bedroom set and a rug. I
have had flowers and candy until I had to
send them to the poor kiddies in the hospi-
tals.

And visitors — I think there are 792
names in my guest book. Wasn't that a
good idea to take a guest book? Jesse L.
Lasky sent me the most gorgeous basket
of fruit and nuts and candy I ever saw.
And one afternoon I had as visitors' Mack
Sennett, and Lottie Pickford, and Jack,
too, and Priscilla Dean and Wheeler Oak-
man, and Roscoe Arbuckle, and Gertie
Neilan and dozens of others.

They came, dear, kind friends to share
my shame and lighten my solitude.

The jazz band from Sunset Inn came
down and gave me a concert.

And the whole Realart studio, every
department, came down one afternoon and
brought me a big black and white key made
of candy.

I am grateful too, in my humble way,
that they did not make me wear stripes or
shave my head. I had some very pretty
little jail frocks of pale blue taffeta. The
hair dresser conies every morning to do my
hair. Mother lives at the hotel across the
street and comes over every day. Grand-
mamma comes down from the city every
day, too, and brings my maid to help me.
My meals come from the Inn across the
way.

The sheriff, who brought me in here and
locked me up, has been my leading man in a
lot of little jail pictures. I've really worked
awfully hard in here, receiving visitors,
and making pictures and — I have helped
look after the other prisoners' linen.

In the next cell to me is a girl accused
of bootlegging. I don't believe it. Every-

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563 2 Miles Per Hour

(Concluded)

II I

Receiving her first meal in prison. (As Bebe testifies, it s a pretty Ritzie jail.)

body that uses hair tonic nowadays they
try to lock up as a bootlegger.

Nearby are two young fellows in for drug
peddling. Some times they have been very
noisy. They wear blue overalls, and one
has a wife who conies to see him. There is
a man downstairs, I don't know what he
did, who has a beautiful sweetheart. When
she comes to visit, they sit side by side on a
bench and do not say a word. I eat with the
prisoners. I have seen lots of people with
worse table manners.

Seriously I have learned a lot. I think
I shall go in earnestly for prison reform work
when I get out. I can now speak with
authority. Of course the Orange County
jail is a mighty Ritzie jail. If every jail
were like that, — but are they?

But now that I've told my story accord-
ing to the best tradition of well known
girl crooks, I'm going to put in a couple of
feet of my own private opinion.

I think they made an awful lot of fuss
about it all. You'd think I'd broken all
the commandments, and statutes and the
peace treaty — if they've got one yet. I've
sprained my sense of humor and dislocated
my digestion. My poor mother and grand-

mother have shed enough tears to float the
Pacific Fleet.

I didn't intend to break their old speed
laws.

Hut if you can't convict a woman of
murder in this country why should you be
able to convict her of speeding?

I don't believe speeding is anything that
is going to permanently blot the family
escutcheon. But whether I'll ever be able
to get a husband now with my jail record, I
don't know.

They were swell to me after they got
me locked up in this old calaboose, but 1
do think they stacked the jury on me, when
they gave me all those ancient, retired farm-
ers. Cleopatra herself would fall flat with
an audience like that.

And I know Judge Cox wouldn't have
done it if he hadn't made all those campaign
promises. Well, that's what I get for his
having talked too much.

As jails go, it's a good jail. But they've
got me tamed. If a Pomeranian growled,
it would scare me to death.

Friends, my candle is burning low. And
I'm lower.

I'll see you when I get out.

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Questions and Answers

(Continued from page 72.)

Philip C. Schaefffr, Buffalo. — I nev-
er said I didn't like Grace Darmond. I
have never met her, but if she is as pretty
as she looks on the screen, I dare say I
would become one of Grace's best fans.
She was born November 20, 1898. She
played with Hobart Bosworth in "Behind
the Door."

Lola. — I love that name. It is so pic-
turesque. I hope you have slightly-
almond-shaped eyes, blue, with a black
fringe of lashes; a somewhat petulant but
very red mouth; and a becoming pallor.
Oh, I do so hope you have a becoming
pallor. Every novel I ever read with a
girl named Lola met these requirements.
Katherine MacDonald in "My Lady's
Latch-Key, " "Stranger than Fiction" and
"Trust Your Wife," all for First National.
Here is the cast for her early Paramount
picture, "The Thunderbolt": Ruth Pom-
eroy— Miss MacDonald; Allen Pomeroy —
Spottiswoode Aitken; Bruce Corbin — Thom-
as Meighan; Spencer Vail — Forrest Stanley;
Tom Pomeroy — Jim Gordon; Mammy Cleo —
Airs. L. C. Harris.

E. G., Winona. — You have excellent
taste, I'll admit: John Barrymore, Conrad
Nagel, and Percy Marmont. Mr. Barry-
more is appearing at the Empire Theater
in New York in "Clair de Lune," a play
by his wife, whose pen name is Michael
Strange. Ethel Barrymore is her brother's
co-star. Mr. Barrymore is five feet ten
inches tall. It was John, not Lionel, who
praised Lillian Gish's performance in "Way
Down East," although Lionel may have
liked it too; I don't know. Nagel in "The
Fighting Chance." Marmont in "The
Branded Woman."

Naomi, Eagle Pass. — The only address
I have for Raymond McKee right now is
the Friars' Club, New York City. As far
as I know he is not married. I know Mrs.
McKee is not Shirley Mason, because Miss
Mason is Mrs. Bernard Durnir g. Compli-
cated, but correct.

Dimples, Rochester. — Glad to see you
again. Particularly appreciate your using
one sheet of your Christmas paper on me.
Frank Mills played the husband in "Her
Husband's Friend." Mr. Mills is one of
our best husbands. Take that an\ way you
want to; he's a good actor and happily
married.

Edn — Perhaps the reason why the
stars' pi otographs are always so good is that
they usua'ly pose for them in New York or
Los Angeles, and I believe many of the
finest photographers in the country have
studios in these two cities. Naturally they
are a jump ahead of Jersey City, with all
due regard for Jersey City. Joseph Dowling
as the Patriarch in "The Miracle Man."
Ralph Lewis as Caslleback in "813," the
Arsene Lupin melodrama by Maurice Le
Blanc. Wedgewood Nowell played the
lead.

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L. M. L., Sumter. — I like to go to pic-
tures, too. Fortunately. Clarine Seymour
last appeared in Griffith's "The Idol
Dancer." She died in May, 1920. Alice
Brady in "Out of the Chorus." Write to
her at Realart.

S. B. K., Dallas. — "Texas Girl" was a
rather indefinite non de plume; there are
so many "Texas Girls," you know. Jack
Pickford is in Hollywood. He and Alfred
Green are co-directors of Mary in "Through
the Door" and "Little Lord Fauntleroy. "

Guy. — Ruth Roland's eyes are blue. I
am very sorry we haven't color photography
so that I might prove this, but the next
best thing is to write to Miss Roland herself,
care Roach studios, and ask her.

Rose of Montgomery. — I have a letter
from Kenneth Harlan in which he says he
has been divorced from Salomy Jane Har-
lan for years. Harlan fans pleass note.'
Here is the cast of "The Restless Sex":
Stephanie Cleland — Marion Davies; Jim
Cleland — Ralph Kellard; Oswald Grismer —
Carlyle Blackwell; John Cleland — Charles
Lane; Chilsmer Grismer — Robert Vivian;
the Child Stephanie — Etna Ross; the hoy
Jim — Stephan Carr; Marie Cliff — Vivian
Osborne; Helen Davis — Corinne Barker.

M. W. — Carol Halloway was never the
wife of William Duncan. Duncan is mar-
ried to Edith Johnson. The rumors that
Mae Marsh might come back to Griffith
were not correct. So few rumors are, don't
you know. Miss Marsh, or Mrs. Louis Lee
Arms, is not with Robertson-Cole any more.
She made for that company "The Little
'Fraid Lady" and "Nobody's Kid." Mae
has one little girl.

Ardis A. Ackerman. — Thanks very
much for the beautiful blotter. May it
serve me well — blotting out, I hope, many
of my mistakes, but not your memories of
me. There — that's off my mind. Always
glad to hear from you.

J. H., Washburn. — Too bad I can't tell
you that Bryant Washburn came from your
Wisconsin town. But he didn't. Bryant
has his own company now; the first release
is called "The Road to London." Mabel
Forrest is Mrs. Washburn. Bessie Love
may be reached care Willis and Inglis,
Wright Callender Bldg., Los Angeles.
Bessie is free-lancing now, having appeared
opposite Sessue Hayakawa and Hobart
Bosworth quite recently. Kenneth Har-
lan, Talmadge studio. Lila Lee and Gloria
Swanson, Lasky. Priscilla Dean, Universal
City, Cal. I understand that upon com-
pleting her current Universal picture, called
"Reputation," Miss Dean has retired for a
while. She is Mrs. Wheeler Oakman.
Oakman and Doris May appear in sup-
port of Jackie Coogan in "Peck's Bad
Boy." Such a little fellow, Jackie, to have
all those big performers supporting him.
Alice Lake, western Metro. But I forget;
there is no eastern Metro any more; a'
the productions of that company will .1
the future be made on the coast.

Dorothy T., Scranton. — Vivian Martin
was with Paramount once upon a time;
so was Louise Huff. But neither is there
now. Miss Huff is married and has not
made a film appearance for some time. Miss
Martin's latest vehicle is "Mother Eternal."

Julienne. — Edwards Burns played Doc-
tor Ransome in "To Please One Woman"
and Mona Lisa was the woman. It was a
Lois Weber picture. I can't tell you who
Mrs. Burns is, because I have no record
of any such person.

Miss Virginia. — I didn't have to look
at the postmark to realize that you are
from Missouri. I can only tell you what I
know; I cannot guarantee truthful ages,
etc. Dorothy Dalton has dark brown hair
and grey eyes. Lillian Gish was born in
1896 and is not married.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZ.NE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Questions and Answers

(Cont

Broadside Battery. — The only reason
you wrote to me was that a heavy fog pre-
vented you from having movies on the
quarterdeck. I am honored anyway.
Your letter was one of the best I have had
this or any other month. Who is the lady
star who buys hairpins with all the quar-
ters you sent? Let me know and I will see
if I can help you to get that picture. Come
again — soon.

A. Swanson, Los Angeles. — You neg-
lected to send your complete address. If
you will write to me again, enclosing
stamped addressed envelope, I would like
very much to write you a personal letter.

inued)

A. YV. H., Hague, Holland. — I liked
your letter very much. Thanks for what
you say about Photoplay. Marion Davie i
may be reached at the International
studios, New York; Lillian Gish at the
C.riitith studios, and Viola Dana, Metro.
No stated number of positives are printed
from a film negative. Write again.

Lyle C, Calumet. — I agree with you
that some rules are very silly- For instance,
that which tells us in case of fire to keep
cool. But I ask you for your complete
names and addresses as evidences of your
good faith. Frank Mayo belongs to a well-
known theatrical family and was on the
stage before becoming a film actor. He
was born in 1886, and may be addressed at
Universal City, Cal. Mayo was formerly
married to Joyce Moore; divorced.

T. L., New York City. — Rubye de-
Remer does not tell her age; she is not mar-
ried. Madame Nazimova was born in
1879 and is Mrs. Charles Bryant in private-
life. She is working now on a screen version
of "Camille." Rudolph Valentino plays
opposite her in this. Wonder how many
feet of film it will take for the famous death
scene?

Daisy. — Here's a secret: I hear that
little Gloria Hope is going to marry Lloyd
Hughes, the Ince leading man. Gloria is
twenty years old and five feet two inches
tall.

C. K., St. Louis. — I'll tell you a stunt.
Don't buy the hat you like; select the most
expensive one you can find, take your hus-
band to see it, and when he glimpses the
tag, tell him you'll compromise with the
first one. (I have never talked to anyone
who tried this, so I recommend it unre-
servedly.) Rudolph Valentino and Alice
Terry are Julio and Marguerite in "The
Four Horsemen." Rex Ingram directed
this Metro picture and June Mathis wrote
the scenario from the Ibanez novel.

G. B., Salt Lake City. — I don't know-
why the Talmadge*sisters should wish to
work in California. They seem perfectly
satisfied with New York. Besides, Norma's
husband, Joseph Schenck, has his office
in Manhattan and so has Constance's
husband, John Pialoglo. If Natalie marries
Buster Keaton she may move to the Coast
— but isn't that a little premature?

H. P., Easton, Pa.— George O'Hara
played the cameraman in Sennett's "A
Small Town Idol" and you may address
him at the Sennett studios. I doubt if Mr.
Sennett's comedians receive as much fan
mail as other stars. Still, I have been
tempted to write Ben Turpin myself.

Thomas. — I'm awfully, awfully sorry I
can't tell you positively what Eva Novak's
matrimonial plans are. The only thing for
you to do is to hope. You might write
to her at Universal City, California. She
doesn't give her age, but she is five feet five
inches tall, if it will help you any to know-
it. Yes — she is Jane's sister. Jane is di-
vorced from Frank Newburg.

Ethel Z., Cicero, III. — Sometimes,
when I look at some of these art exhibits
I think they should hang the artists as well
as the pictures. But then I am old-fash-
ioned, and I always suspect that the artist
is trving to make fun of me. Philo McCul-
lough is unmarried according to our rec-
ords. He was born in 1890.

M. M. S., Akron. — Jackie Coogan and
Wesley Barry are both in New York at
present. Jackie is having the time of his
life and helping everybody else to do the
same. Wesley has been helping the various
relief societies that are working in Man-
hattan and has sold dolls for charity and
behaved beautifully generally. I believe
Jackie has had rather the best of it, how-
ever; he helped the Yanks win the other
day and next to Babe Ruth was the most
celebrated person there. Norma Talmadge
was born in 1895, is five feet two inches tall,
weighs 110 pounds, and has dark brown
hair and eyes.

Just Giff. — Aren't you coy! The girl
who played opposite Buck Jones in "The
Square Shooter" was Patsy de Forest.

Cleopatra. — Your pastel, Antony and
Cleopatra, arrived safely, if such a brilliant
affair may be said to have arrived safely.
The colors blind me, Cleo; and I can't
have it framed for my office as you suggest
because I wouldn't do any work. How-
ever, I am so glad you told me what it was
all about — I might have mistaken them for
Abelard and Heloise. Raymond Hatton
in "The Concert." He is married. Frank
Campeau's latest pictures is "The Killer"
in which he plays the title role. F'ank has
done some killing in his time — on the screen.
Remember when he was the villain in
Doug's pictures? Will Rogers in "A Bash-
ful Romeo. " Geraldine Farrar is not do-
ing any film work right now. She and her
husband Lou Tellegen are planr ing a trip
abroad, I believe, and upon their return
they will make more pictures.

Green Eyes. — Clara Kimball Young is
not married now. Monte Blue is — to
a non-professional. He was born in Indian-
apolis, has brown hair and eyes, is six feet
two inches tall and weighs about 180
pounds. Blue plays in Allan Dwan's
"A Perfect Crime" but is, I think, under
contract to Paramount permanently. Yes
— he's a nice chap.

Margaret, Elmira. — I would be only
too glad to tell you how to start a Sunshine
Club if I knew what it was. And if I
knew- I would start one myself.

Birdie. — Dustin Farnum's wife was
formerly Mary Cromwell. That is a beau-
tiful name, isn't it? Hallam Cooley is
married. Bert Lytell was born in 1885, and
is married to Evelyn Vaughn. Lytell in
"A Message from Mars."

Z. S., Kentucky. — I have heard, too,
that Katherine MacDonald is soon to marry
a Los Angeles business man. But since
Katherine herself has not announced it,
I will not publish it as a fact. Nigel Bar-
rie is married and lives in Hollywood.

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Questions and Answers

(Continued)

Mary Carey. — Xo relation to Harry
Carey, but willing to be? Well, Mr. Carey
has a wife — Olive Fuller Golden who was
once a Universal actress. She has not made
any pictures for quite a while now, but her
sister, Ruth Golden, played with Harry
recently. Phyllis Haver is still a Mack
Sennett comedienne, but Louise Fazenda
and Marie Prevost have both deserted
the old lot for fresh fields. Louise is going
to keep on being funny, but Marie is going
in for drama. Thomas Meighan, Lasky,
Hollywood.

The Kid. — Robert Harron died in New-
York City, September 6, 1920, as the result
of an accidental bullet-wound. He was
twenty-six years of age and unmarried.
His younger brother, John, appears with
Mary Pickford in her new picture.

Terry T. H. — All is not gold that glitters;
some of it is dyed. But I don't want to
make you cynical. Albert Roscoe will next
be seen in the May Allison Metro picture,
"The Woman Next Door." Something
about him? He is a mighty fine chap off
screen, and he now is working with Alice
Lake at the Metro studios, Hollywood.
He is married.

The Mystic Rose. — Why should you
be any more disillusioned about your film
favorites than you are about your butcher
or baker or candlestick maker? I acknowl-
edge that the latter are not generally known
as "artistes," which name usually covers
a multitude of shortcomings; but they are
human and so are film stars. Don't let it
worry you. I don't. It's none of my busi-
ness. Pearl White will not live in Europe;
she will return after a short vacation and
go to work for Fox again.

Cora W. K. — Why do you have to call
Nazimova Madame? You don't. But it
happens that we often refer to foreign
actresses as Madame when one of our
native stars is just plain Mrs. You pro-
nounce it Na-zeew-ova when you don't
forget and say Nazimova instead. Gladys
Walton was born in Boston, April 14, 1904.
She is one inch over five feet.

Gwex. — Maude Adams is not going to
act in films, but she is going to produce
them. She is interested in color photog-
raphy and will make a picture called
"Aladdin" in a New York studio. Miss
Adams has not appeared on the stage for
nearly three years, but it is said she will
return next season. Marguerite de la Motte
is of French descent, but she was born in
this country. Hoot Gibson is Helen Gib-
son's husband. He is with Universal.

M. P., Ohio. — Madge Kennedy has been
appearing on the legitimate stage in a
play called "Cornered" in which Madge,
borrowing a page from her picture book,
plays a dual role. The play isn't so good,
in my opinion, but Madge is. She will
probably come back to pictures before
very long. She is Mrs. Harold Bolster in
private life. Mabel Normand is not mar-
ried. She is back with the Mack Sennett
company and her first new photoplay is
called "Molly-O." Of course I like Mabel.
Doesn't everybody?

Ila, Danville. — I thought I had an-
swered this question for the last time three
years ago. But no: still they come. Doro-
thy Davenport is Mrs. Wallace Reid.
They have one son, William Wallace Reid,
Jr., who is called Bill when he isn't dressed
up. The Reids live in Hollywood.

Everj advertisement in PHOTOPLAY' MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Elizabeth. — All of the young ladies
you mention are on the sunny side of twen-
ty-five: Anita Stewart, Alma Tell, Alma
Rubens, and Gloria Swanson. Miss Ru-
bens is not making any more pictures
at present. Anita Stewart is married to
Rudolph Cameron; they have no children.
Gloria Swanson has a baby girl. I haven't
seen Gloria the Second so I really can't
say if she resembles her famous mother.
Mrs. Somborn is firm in her determination
not to permit her daughter to be photo-
graphed.

Maxine Stewart, Wisconsin. — Impres-
sionism might be suppressionism as far as
I am concerned. I wouldn't know the
difference. So I cannot discuss art, let
alone new art, with you. More familiar
ground is the age of Wheeler Oakman —
thirty-one — and of David Powell — thirty-
seven.

Robert W. Tiffin, Honolulu. — That
was a corking letter. I wish you would
write every month. Gaston Glass is in
California right now. He made picturiza-
tions of two Ralph Connor stories in Can-
ada: "Cameron of the Mounted" and
"The Foreigner." He is not married.
Bebe Daniels and Wallace Reid, Lasky,
Hollywood.

Clyde L. M. — Douglas Fairbanks' small
son, Douglas Jr., attends a military acad-
emy. His mother, the former Mrs. Fair-
banks, is now Mrs. Evans. Doug Jr.
looks very much like his father. I don't
think he has made up his mind whether
he will be an actor or a fireman. I'll let
you know.

Runa W., New Zealand. — If all ques-
tions were as easy as yours! There is no
glass in Harold Lloyd's celebrated specta-
cles. They are Lloyd's trademark just as
Charlie's cane is his. Neither Chaplin nor
Lloyd is married. May Allison in "The
Marriage of William Ashe." There is no
Mr. May Allison.

Mr. J. E., Java. — Your letters were
forwarded to the correct addresses. Oh
no — over here the latest husbandly whine
is "Why can't you brew it as mother used
to do it?" Harrison Ford is not married
now. He was born in 1892, is five feet ten
inches tall, and may be addressed care
Talmadge studio, New York.

A. D., Idaho. — Olive Thomas, at the
time of her sad death, was only twenty-one.
You may be able to obtain a photograph
bv writing to the Selznick studio, Fort Lee,
N.J.

M. H., Santa Cruz. — Just to prove I
bear no grudge, I hasten to give you the
desired cast. It makes no difference
whether you malign or abuse me; I will
answer your questions just the same. It's
noble of me, really. "The Love Flower":
Stella Bevan — Carol Dempster; Bruce Sand-
ers— Richard Barthelmess; her father —
George McQuarrie; Matthew Crand — Anders
Randolph; Mrs. Bevan — Florence Short;
her visitor — Crauford Kent.

Hugh McC, Philadelphia. — Thanks
for taking the trouble to recall that I like
typewritten letters. Very kind of you.
Juanita Hansen, Pathe. May Allison is not
married. So you liked the cover of Rubye
deRemer. So did everybody.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section
Questions and Answers

(Concluded)

Mekry Widow. — It is indeed an empty
purse which is full of other men's money.
I'll forgive you this time but don't ever do
it again. Wallace Reid is extremely per-
sonable, if I may trust the judgment of the
majority of my feminine correspondents.
He is a fine chap — I know that. So is
Douglas McLean. The McLeans live in
Los Angeles. Doris May is a very good
friend of Mr. and Mrs. McLean. No truth
at all in those rumors that they couldn't
work together because of professional
jealousy and all that. Miss May in "The
Bronze Bell. "

G. T., Stamford. — You like Burns
Mantle's reviews but you don't always
agree with him. Wouldn't this be a dreary
existence if there were no discussions?
Carol Dempster, Charles Mack, Ralph
Graves and Edward Peil were the leading
players in Griffith's "Dream Street."
The Gish girls do not appear in it. Dorothy
is not making any new pictures at present.
Her husband, James Rennie, is playing
opposite Hope Hampton in "Star Dust."

E. F. X.. Muskegon. — I can't give you
Alice Joyce's personal address because
I don't know it myself. What's more,
Yitagraph doesn't know it either. Miss
Joyce believes — and you can't blame her —
that she is entitled to a strictly private life
as well as a professional one. Her husband
is James Regan Jr. The new Joyce picture
is "Her Lord and Master." The Lee
children are still in vaudeville — their act
is called, I believe, "The New Director."
I have not seen it. I can't afford to go to
the variety theaters. I have to depend
upon books for my entertainment.

Charmain. — You object to close-ups of
good looking lovers. I must say I prefer
that they be good looking. Theda Bara
is abroad at present. She liked it so well
that she went back for a second visit. Her
sister Loro is married and living in Paris, I
believe. Theda is not married.

Marjie. — I am not simply wild about
you. You covered at least eight pages
of purplish paper with indefinite and il-
legible ravings about Dick Barthelmess, de-
manding to know why I say that he is
married, when he isn't. He is. To Mary
Hay. Very happily. Read this depart-
ment once in a while.

Edith. — So you think George Stewart is
the coming matinee idol. He was in
"Habit" with Mildred Harris and plays
with Alice Lake in a new Metro film.
Mae Marsh has formed her own company.
Tony Moreno is not married. He is still
with Yitagraph, working at their west-
coast studios.

Vashti. — At last! Wherever have you
been? I was certain that I gave you a most
sarcastic answer last time, and couldn't
imagine why you never called again. I
am as sweet-tempered as ever, as you will
observe by reading the rest of this delect-
able department. So — it is Owen Moore
now, is it? He is with Selznick at Fort
Lee, and is not married.

H. E. F., Camden, X. J. — Infant future
presidents of the United States are becom-
ing more rare every minute. All the babies
are scheduled for screen careers. Antonio
Moreno was born in Madrid, Spain, in
1888. He is not engaged. H. B. Warner
is married to Rita Warners and proud of
it. The Stanwoods have two children, and
live in Hollywood. Very nice folks, I think.

Mary C. — George Beban is an American
I know he plays Italian characters but it
doesn't follow that he was born in Sunny
Italy. Just another tribute to George's
genuine ability. His latest vehicle in "One
Man in a Million," in which his little son,
Bob White Beban, also appears.

F. R. A., Venice, Cal.— That is Mar-
guerite de la Motte's real name. Does it
sound too good to be true? She was born
in Duluth, Minn.,

The Bat. — If I were a woman I should
have blushed a deep pink when I read all
that you said about me. Am I really as
good as all that? Xo; you are just naturally
good natured, that's all. Jane Wolff is not
an extra — she is a free-lance, appearing
most frequently for Paramount. She was
born in St. Petersburg, Pa., is five feet five
inches tall, weighs 128 pounds, and is un-
married— that is, I presume she is as I
have no record of her husband. Marcia
Manon is Russian— her real name is
Camille Ankewich. In private life she is
Mrs. Frothingham. Her latest appearance
is in Goldwyn's "Look Before You Leap."
Madge Kennedy will return to films sooner
or later. With you, I hope it may be sooner.
Don't forget to write again.

Azile. — Whatever that means. Ye--, I
remember little Kenneth Casey who used
to play in the John Bunny-Flora Finch
comedies, but I have no recent information
about him. He must be a big boy now.
Bill Hart plans a long vacation but I doubt
if he will retire definitely from pictures.
You know Sarah Bernhardt said she was
going to retire too. And she is now playing
in vaudeville in England and on the con-
tinent. More power to her, too.

Y. R., New York City. — Oh, I don't
think Xew Yorkers are nearly so blase as
they try to make out. Did you ever watch
one of them stopping to observe a fight or a
fire? You'll see exactly the same expres-
sions as you would see in Main Street — any-
where. Kathleen Clifford won recognition
for her male impersonations. She was well
known in vaudeville before she went on the
screen. She weighs only 93 pounds and is
five feet one inch tall. She isn't married.
Edith Johnson is five feet four and weighs
135 lbs.

Sarah, Charlotte. — I approve of you-
You are not a bit catty. Any girl who
honestly admires Agnes Ayres cannot be
catty. Agnes is very beautiful at home
as well as in the studio. Address her Lasky
studios, Hollywood. She is a member of
the all-star cast for "The Affairs of Anatol. "

Kathryx. — Who is Jack Holt's wife?

Mrs. Jack Holt. I really haven't her

maiden name, but I know she is not a film
actress.

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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

D. G. S., Sax Diego — Edith Roberts
was born as recently as 1901. I think you
must be confusing her with some other
actress, though why I can't figure out.
Edith is a star of the ingenue type, not a
character actress. Here's the cast of "The
Frontier of the Stars": Buck Leslie —
Thomas Meighan; Hilda Shea — Faire Bin-
ney; Phil Hoyt — Alphonz Ethier; Gregory —
F.dward Ellis; Ganz — Gus Weinberg; Mary
Hoyt — Florence Johns. Of this cast, two
are legitimate players; Ethier, who appears
in a Broadway play, "The Broken Wing,"
and Edward Ellis, a member of the cast of
"The Bat."

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

OUNT PicTURETONlCtfT

And so the day ends perfectly —

A GOOD vacation means above all
else change of scene. The city-
dweller longs for the country or shore.

The country-dwellers seek the ex-
citement of metropolitan life.

Whichever class you are in you
will find that Paramount has antici-
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In the country you will find that
the fame of Paramount has pene-
trated to your resort, whether it be
in a theatre that seats three hundred
or three thousand. You can see the
same fine Paramount Pictures there
that you were accustomed to in town.

The visitors to the cities will dis-
cover any number of Paramount
Pictures to choose from.

Take train anywhere : take steamer
or aeroplane, and you will inevitably
arrive at one of the theatres on the
Paramount circuit of enchantment.

Whether it is a million dollar palace
of the screen in the big city, or a tiny
hall in a backwoods hamlet, you will
find that it is always the best and
most prosperous theatre in the com-
munity that is exhibiting Paramount
Pictures.

They both show the same pic-
tures! Paramount Pictures.

The resort that has Paramount

Pictures is in the swim — a Broadway

show in the heart of the country!

Paramount has achieved this na-
tional recognition by steadily deliv-
ering great entertainment,

— entertainment conceived and in-
terpreted by the foremost actors,
dramatists, directors, writers, im-
presarios and technicians,

— photoplays made with the idea
that each one had to beat the last,

— motion pictures so good that in
the United States alone more than
11,200 theatres, not counting sum-
mer theatres, depend on them as the
chief source of supply.

Whether you see Paramount Pic-
tures in a metropolitan theatre or in
a summer theatre that vanishes with
the first frosts, you are equally sure
of fine entertainment.

When you see that phrase, "It's a
Paramount Picture," park your car,
motor-boat or canoe and go in,

— because if it's a Paramount Picture
it's the best show in vacation-land!

(paramount (pictures

PARAMOUNT PICTURES

listed in order of release
June 1, 1921 to September 1, 1921

Ask your theatre manager when he
will show them

Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle in

"The Traveling Salesman"

From James Forbes' popular farce.

Cosmopolitan production

"The Wild Goose"
By Gouverneur Morris.

Thomas Meighan in

"White and Unmarried"

A whimsical and romantic comedy

By John D. Swain.

"Appearances," by Edward Knoblock

A Donald Crisp production.

Made in England. With David Powell.

Thomas H. Ince Special, "The Bronze Bell"

By Louis Joseph Vance.

Douglas MacLean in "One a Minute"

Thos. H. Ince production

Fred Jackson's famous stage farce.

Ethel Clayton in "Sham"

By Elmer Harris and Geraldine Bonner.

George Melford's production, "A Wise Fool"

By Sir Gilbert Parker

A drama of the Northwest.

Cosmopolitan production

"The Woman God Changed"

By Donn Byrne.

Wallace Reid in "Too Much Speed"
A comedy novelty by Byron Morgan

"The Mystery Road"

A British production with David Powell

From E. Phillips Oppenheim's novel.

A Paul Powell Production.

William A. Brady's production "Life"
By Thompson Buchanan.

Dorothy Dalton in "Behind Masks"

An adaptation of the famous novel by

E. Phillips Oppenheim

"Jeanne of the Marshes."

Gloria Swanson in Elinor Glyn's

"The Great Moment"

Specially written for the star by the

author of "Three Weeks."

William de Mille's "The Lost Romance"

By Edward Knoblock

William S. Hart in "The Whistle"

A Hart production

A Western story with an unforgettable punch.

"The Princess of New York"

A British production from the novel by

Cosmo Hamilton.

A Donald Crisp production.

Douglas MacLean in "Just Passing Through"

Thos. H. Ince production.

Thomas Meighan in
"The Conquest of Canaan"

By Booth Tarkington.

Ethel Clayton in "Wealth"

By Cosmo Hamilton

A story of New York's artistic Bohemia.

A Wm. D. Taylor production.

Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle in

"Crazy to Marry." By Frank Condon

From the hilarious

Saturday Evening Post story.

\: FAMOUS PLAYERS~LASKY CORPORATION :,

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

The World's Leading Motion Picture Publication

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE

JAMES R. QUIRK, Editor

Vol. XX

Contents

August, 1 92 1

Cover Design

From a Pastel Portrait by Rolf Armstrong.

Rotogravure :

Kathryn Perry Gladys Leslie

No. 3

Bebe Daniels

Billie Dove
Olive Tell

Barbara Deane
John Barrymore
Julanne Johnston

Magic Days

The Lasky Lot

Through the Eye of An Artist's Pen.

One of Anatol's Affairs
Agnes Ayres, By Name.

Here's How It's Done

Bird's-eye View of a Picture in the Making.

Hello, Mabel! Adela Rogers St. Johns

The Real Mabel Normand Has Returned.

Ethel Clayton

She Is At Home Again, in Hollywood.

Some People

A Constellation of Impressions.
And Three Lovely Children — T. L. Sappington

A Contest Fiction Story. Illustrated by May Wilson Preston.

An Open Letter to Mme. Nazimova
Upon Her Farewell to Metro.

(Contents continued on next page)

Editorial
Ralph Barton

Delight Evans

(Photograph)

(Portrait)
Julian Johnson

19
20

Editorial Offices, 25 W. 45th St., New York City

Published monthly by the Photoplay Publishing Co., 350 N. Clark St., Chicago, 111.

Edwin M. Colvin, Pres. James R. Quirk, Vice-Pres. R. M. Eastman. Sec.-Treas.

Entered as second-class matter April 24. 1912. at the Postoffice at Chlcajo, III., under the Act of March 3, 1879.

Copyrizht, 1921. by the Photoplay Publishing Company. Chicago.

Photoplays Reviewed

in the Shadow Stage

This Issue

Save this magazine — refer to
the criticisms before you pick out
your evening's entertainment.
Make this your reference list.

Page 55

The Woman God Changed

Cosmopolitan- Para.

Page 56

Through the Back Door

United Artists

Two Weeks Without Pay. . . . Realart

The Lost Romance Paramount

Boys Will Be Boys Goldwyn

Page 57

Sham Paramount

The Wild Goose. Cosmopolitan-Para.
The Home Stretch. . Ince-Paramount
Snowblind Goldwyn

Page 58

White and Unmarried. . .Paramount

A Wise Fool Paramount

Reputation Universal

Love's Penalty First National

J 'Accuse Marc Klaw

Page 82

The Scarab Ring Vitagraph

Get Your Man Fox

The Ten Dollar Raise

Associated Prod.

Cheated Love Universal

Appearances British-Paramount

The Guide Fox

The Last Card Metro

Closed Doors Vitagraph

Colorado Pluck Fox

The Wallop Universal

Lavender and Old Lace.. .Hodkinson

Beyond Price Fox

Keeping Up With Lizzie. . Hodkinson

Page 83

Big Town Ideas Fox

The Man Tamer Universal

The High Road. Non-Theatrical Dist.

The Silver Car Vitagraph

A Riding Romeo Fox

Contents — Continued

Fashions Carolyn Van Wyck

Odds and Ends for the Summer Season.

Photoplays

Wanted : A Chance to Ride Joan Jordan

Jack Holt, Horseman.

West is East Delight Evans

Three

Meeting Betty Blythe and Wally Reid.

Snip Go the Censor's Scissors (Photographs)

Contests

Forty Years of Bathing Suits.

The Sign on the Door (Fiction) Gene Sheridan

From the Film Adaptation of the Famous Play.

A Daughter of the Vikings Joan Jordan

W 7"ITH its three contests —
V V world-beaters, every one

Ann Forrest.

Traditions? Never Heard of 'Em Jordan Robinson

of them: unique, costly, amaz-

Rex Ingram, Director Extraordinaire.

ing— PHOTOPLAY MAG-

Whose Double Are You?

AZINE has perhaps never been

Announcing a New Contest.

equalled in the magazine field

E-x-t-r-a-s ! Norman Anthony

for the general interest it has
created.

Drawing.

What Was the Best Photoplay of 1920?

There's —

Coupon Number Three in Photoplay's Gold Medal Contest.

The $14,000 Fiction Contest,

The Bad Actor From Bildad (Fiction) J. Frank Davis

involving prizes of $5,000,

Fiction Contest Story. Illustrated by T. D. Sk'dmore.

$2,500, $1,000 and $500, which

Close-Ups Editorial Comment

has raised the standard of Amer-
ican fiction, has brought a

Experience

hearty response from famous

A Tabloid Version of the Film Play.

writers, and has definitely estab-

Maison Murray (Photographs)

lished other writers not so well

Mrs. Robert Leonard's Home in New York.

known. PHOTOPLAYS Fic-

What Is a Director? By Et Al.

tion Stories are being read.

An Array of Definitions.

There's —

The Shadow Stage Burns Mantle

The Medal of Honor Contest

Reviews of the New Pictures.

— a great enterprise which will

Applause Wanted ! Norman Anthony

permanently reward the film in-

Drawing.

dustry for its finest achievement

Not in the Guide Book (Photographs)

of the year. An annual affair —

Homes of the Great in the Hollywood Hills.

an event of national importance

The Woman Who Came Back Adela Rogers St. Johns
Victory Bateman.

— it is distinctly your Contest,
for you are choosing, with your

Twin Salaries for Twin Roles? Norman Anthony

votes, the best photoplay.

Drawing.

And then —

Hidden Children of the Screen Lyne S. Metcalfe

The Doubles Contest. The

Movies You Never See.

most intimate competition of

Plays and Players Cal. York

News from the Studios.

the three : finding the doubles of
famous film stars. If you re-
semble a screen celebrity, if you

Being a Screen Idol's Wife Ada Patterson

have a friend who does, send

As Confessed by Mrs. Conway Tearle.

in the resemblance picture to

Cherchez la Film Randolph Bartlett

PHOTOPLAY. $50, $25, and

Verse.

three prizes of $10, are the gen-

Home-Folks Margaret Sangster

erous awards.

Verse.

Watch the next issue for fur-

Why Do They Do It?

ther developments!

Criticisms by the Movie-Goers.

Questions and Answers The Answer Man

Three special reasons why
you had better order

Announcing Marriage Letter Contest Winners

Miss Van Wyck Says:

Answers to Questions on Fashions.

108

your September
copy now!

{Addresses of the Leading Motion Picture Producers appear on page 8)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

A pound a day the very first week without medi-
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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Millions of People Can 'Write
Stories and Photoplays and

«v»a. & w«p. r ~ •<r-

JtlOW It/

THIS is the startling assertion lecently made by
E. B. Davison, of New York, one of the high-
est paid writers in the world. Is his aston-
ishing statement true? Can it be possible there are
countless thousands of people yearning to write,
who really can and simply haven't found it out?
Well, come to think of it, most anybody can tell a
story. Why can't most anj body write a story?
Why is writing supposed to be a rare gift that few
possess? Isn't this only another of the Mistaken
Ideas the past has handed down to us? Yesterday
nobody dreamed man could fly. Today he dives
like a swallow ten thousand
feet above the earth and
laughs down at the tiny
mortal atoms of his fellow-
men below! So Yesterday's
"impossibility" is a reality
today.

"The time will come,'
writes the same authority,
"when millions of people
will be writers — there will
be countless thousands oi
playwrights, novelists, scen-
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paper writers — they are
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new world of them!" And
do you know what these
writers-to-be are doing now?
Why, they are the men —
armies of them — young and
old, now doing mere clerical
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or even driving trucks, run-
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waiting on tables, working
at barber chairs, following
the plow, or teaching schools
in the rural districts, and
women, young and old, by

scores now noundine tvDC- MBY AL1-'SON, famous Metro Movie Sl.r. says:

scores, now pouiiuing t.vp1 •-, ,„,,„. /,.„,,, „,„„„ ,„„,ous directors and tdttarsmtrmhi

writers, or Standing behind endarm THE IRVING SfSTEM. I am full 1/ satisfied th«t

counters, or running spindles vo"r1 '* "f only method of urritina that realia teaches

ywu"i/v.»o, y. . ,■ K people how to write stories and plays. '

in factories, bending over

sewing machines, or doing housework. Yes — you
may laugh — but these are The Writers of To-
morrow.

For writing isn't only for geniuses as most people
think. Don't you believe the Creator gave you a story-
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simply afraid to try. Or if they do try, and their
first efforts don't satisfy, they simply give up in
despair, and that ends it. They're through. They
never try again. Yet, if, by some lucky chance they
had first learned the simple rules of writing, and
then given the imagination free rein, they might have
astonished the world!

hour, every minute, in the whirling vortex — the
flotsam and jetsam of Life — even in your own home,
at work or play, are endless incidents for stories
and plays — a wealth of material, a world of things
happening. Every one of these has the seed of a
story or play in it. Think! If you went to a fire,
or saw an accident, you could come home and tell
the folks all about it. Unconsciously you would
describe it all very realistically. And if somebody
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you might be amazed to find your story would
sound just as interesting as many you've read in
magazines or seen on the
screen. Now, you will natu-
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as simple as you say it is,
why can't / learn to write?"
Who says you can't?

T ISTEN! A wonderful
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LETTERS LIKE THIS
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'Every obstacle that

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pie but thorough sys-
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I ran only say that I am amazed
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led your Irving System

the

T)UT two things are essential in order to become
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It is amazingly easy
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A little study, a little
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Thousands of people
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Many of the greatest
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Yes, seething all around
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arkable thing I Iil..

i. Mr. Irving certainly has
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ALFRED HORTO. Niaoaea
F.us N. V.

Of all the compositions 1 have
read on toe subject, I find yours
the most helpful to aspiring
authors." —HAZEL SIMPSON
NAYLOR. LiTERABr Editor,
Motion Picture Magazine.

"With this volume before him,
the veriest novice should be able
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will find a ready market. The best
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paper and literarv work." — H.
PIERCE WliLLER. MaNAOWC
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So why waste any more time wondering, dreaming,
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Get your letter in the mail before you sleep tonight.
Who knows — it may mean for you the Dawn of a New
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Auburn, New York.

THE AUTHORS' PRESS, DepL 146, Auburn, N. Y.
Send me ABSOLUTELY FREE, "The Wonder Book
for Writers." This does not obligate me in any way.

City and Stale.

Studio Directory

ASSOCIATED PRODUCERS, INC.,

729 Seventh Ave., N. Y.

(s) Maurice Tourneur, Culver City, Cal.
(s) Thos. H. Incc, Culver City, Cal.

J. Parker Read. Jr., Ince Studios, Cul-
ver City, Cal.
(s) Mack Sennett, Edendale, Cal.
(s) Marshall Neilan, Hollywood Studios,
6642 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood,
Cal.
(s) Allan Dwan, Hollywood Studios, 6642
Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.
(s) Geo. Loane Tucker, Brunton Studios,

Hollywood, Cal
(s) King Vidor Productions, 7200 Santa
Monica Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.
BLACKTON PRODUCTIONS, INC., Bush

House, Aldwych, Strand, London, England.
ROBERT BRUNTON STUDIOS, 5300 Melrose

Ave., Hollywood, Cal.
CHRISTIE FILM CORP., 6101 Sunset Blvd.,

Hollywood, Cal.
EDUCATIONAL FILMS CORP., of America.

370 Seventh Ave., N. Y. C.
FAMOUS- PLAYERS- LASKY CORP., Para-
mount, 485 Fifth Ave., New York City,
(s) Pierce Ave. and Sixth St., Long Island

City, New York.
(s)Lasky, Hollywood, Cal.

British Paramount (s) Poole St., Islington,

N. London, England.
Realart, 469 Fifth Ave., New York City.
(s)211 N. Occidental Blvd., Los Angeles, Cal.
FIRST NATIONAL EXH I BITORS' CIRCUIT,
INC., 6 West 48th St., New York;
R. A. Walsh Prod.,

5341 Melrose Ave., Hollywood, Cal.
Mr. and Mrs. Carter De Haven, Prod.,

Louis B. Mayer Studios, Los Angeles.
Anita Stewart Co., 3800 Mission Road,

Los Angeles, Cal.
Louis B. Mayer Productions, 3800 Mission

Road, Los Angeles Cal.
Norma and Constance Talmadge Studio,

318 East 48th St., New York.
Katherine MacDonald Productions,
Georgia and Girard Sts., Los Angeles,
Cal.
David M. Hartford, Prod.,

3274 West 6th St., Los Angeles, Cal.
Hope Hampton, Prod., Peerless Studios,
Fort Lee, N. J.
(s) Chas. Ray, 1428 Fleming St., Los Angeles.
FOX FILM CORP.. <s) 10th Ave. and 55th St..
New York; (s) 1401 Western Ave., Hollywood
Cal.
GARSON STUDIOS, INC., (s) 1845 Alessandro,

St.. Edendale, Cal.
GOLDWYN FILM CORP., 469 Fifth Ave., New

York; (s) Culver City, Cal.
HAMPTON, JESSE B., STUDIOS. 1425 Flem-
ing St., Hollywood, Cal.
HART, WM. S. PRODUCTIONS, (s) 1215

Bates St., Hollywood. Cal.
HOLLYWOOD STUDIOS, 6642 Santa Monica

Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.
INTERNATIONAL FILMS, INC., 729 Seventh
Ave., N. Y. C. (s) Second Ave. and 127th
St., N. Y.
METRO PICTURES CORP., 1476 Broadwav,
New York; (s) 3 West 61st St., New York,
and 1025 Lillian Way, Hollywood, Cal.
PATHE EXCHANGE, Pathe Bldg., 35 W. 45th
St., New York. (s)Geo. B. Seitz, 134th St.
and Park Ave., New York City.
ROBERTSON-COLE PRODUCTIONS, 723
Seventh Ave., New York; Currier Bldg., Los
Angeles; (s) corner Gower and Melrose Sts.,
Hollywood, Cal.
ROTHACKER FILM MFG. CO., 1339 Diversey

Parkway, Chicago, 111.
SELZNICK PICTURES CORP., 729 Seventh
Ave., New York; (s) 807 East 175th St., New
York, and West Fort Lee. N. J.
UNITED ARTISTS CORPORATION, 729
Seventh Ave., New York.

Mary Pickford Co., Brunton Studios,
Hollywood, Cal.; Douglas Fairbanks
Studios, Hollywood, Cal.; Charles Chaplin
Studios, 1416 LaBrea Ave.; Hollywood,

Cal.
D. W. Griffith Studios, Orienta Point,

Mamaroneck, N. Y.
George Arliss Prod., Whitman Bennett
Studio, 537 Riverdale Ave., Yonkers,
New York.
UNIVERSAL FILM MFG. CO.. 1600 Broad-
way, New York; (s) Universal City, Cal.
VITAGRAPH COMPANY OF AMERICA,
469 Fifth Ave., New York; (s) East 15th St.
and Locust Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y., and
1708 Talmadge St., Hollywood. Cal.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

<A (gsmopoliian [A
Production

yl Paramount
Picture-

»•*■'■

Marion Davics

^VUTHAT is "The Bride's Play?" — Like the
Vv shower of rice, the toss of the bride's
bouquet, it is a rite for the bridal day only. It is
fateful, fraught with many dangers — no lover can be
sure of his bride until after "The Bride's Play."
It is the "sweetest story ever told," as romantic, as tender,

N Marion Davies' new super -feature a dis-
carded suitor takes advantage of "The Bride's
Play" in his effort to win her by fair means or
foul. A startling, a breath-taking act of the
bride saves her life's happiness.
as idyllic, as superbly beautiful as Mendelssohn's Spring Song.

SrheKprittcX-flay"

Every girl — every woman — will want to see "The Bride's Play." Ask your favorite theatre to play this wonder picture.

i p

■ i

l1 '

Wiiuu you write to advertisers please Ulenticu 1'llOTOl'I.AY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

There is constant danger

in an oily skin

IF your skin has the habit of con-
tinually getting oily and shiny —
you cannot begin too soon to correct
this condition.

A certain amount of oil in your skin
is necessary to keep it smooth, velvety,
supple. But too much oil not only
spoils the attractiveness of any girl's
complexion — it actually tends to pro-
mote an unhealthy condition of the skin
itself.

A skin that is too oily is constantly
liable to infection from dust and dirt,
and thus encourages the formation of
blackheads, and other skin troubles
that come from outside infection.

You can correct an oily skin by
using each night the following simple
treatment:

With warm water work up a heavy lather
of Woodbury's Facia/ Soap in your hands.
Apply it to your face and rub it into the pores
thoroughly — always with an upward and
outward motion. Rinse with warm water,
then with cold. If possible, rub your face for
thirty seconds with a piece of ice.

Special treatments for each type of
skin are given in the famous booklet
of treatments that is wrapped around
every cake of Woodbury's Facial Soap.

Get a cake of Woodbury's today, at
any drug store or toilet goods counter,
and begin tonight the treatment your
skin needs.

A 25-cent cake of
Woodbury's lasts for a
month or six weeks.

A"SK(N.

L°V€-To

"Your treatment for one week"

Send 25 cents for a dainty miniature set of the Woodbury
skin preparations containing the treatment booklet. "A Skin
You Love to Touch;" a trial size cake of Woodbury's Facial
Soap; and samples of the new Woodbury Facial Cream,
Woodbury's Cold Cream and Facial Powder. Address The
Andrew Jergens Co., 5°8 Spring Grove Ave., Cincinnati,
Ohio. If you live in Canada, address The Andrew Jergens
Co., Limited, 508 Sherbrooke St., Perth, Ontario.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

TOUCH I

Alfred Cheney Johnston

Indeed she is a charming Kathryn — very!

And when we've said her other name is Perry

There seems no need of further conversation

In an affair of optical elation.
(A Ziegfeld beauty first of all,
And after that, the camera's call.)

Alfred Cheney Johnston

When one has a name like Billie Dove
The easiest of rhyming words is "love."
An apple borne by such a lissome Eve
'Most any modern Adam would deceive.
(A ragged shirt, not much of any pants
— this costume seems the height of elegance!)

Alfred Cheney Johnston

Narrator of Emotion, it is well
Your people gave to you the name of Tell.
Yet no Olive branch of peace are you —
Too tense and turbulent the scenes you do.

(Fair stateliness of other days,

A Rembrandt might have brushed your praise!)

Alfred Cheney Johnston

A newsgirl will be pinched for blocking traffic
If she ventures out in garb so graphic.
When admiring customers say "Oh!"
She'd better hear them in the studio.

(Pardon us, our memory so bad is!

Meet Miss Leslie — first name, Gladys.)

Alfred Cheney Johnston

Are you supposed to be a Rajah's bride?

A slave with thongs of jewels tied?

A Duchess fleeing from the Bolsheviki —

Or just a vampire, sinuous and creepy?
(Julanne Johnston, if you must know,
And the artist fixed her up so!)

fcKD0?RGG&

Actual photograph rifsn.vea.ter
utter 55 washings with
Jiwry Flakes. This sweater
and statement of original
owner on' file in the office of
The Procter & Gamble Co.

Chicago girl wore this coral wool sweater and washed
it fifty-five times during the past three years. After
the first twelve washings she altered the neck and arm-
holes with some of the unwashed yarn. Much to her sur-
prise the new yarn could not be told from the old! And
through the other forty odd washings, the sweater has kept
its color, its woolly softness, and its original shape. It
looks good for another three years' wear.

Its owner credits this remarkable record to the fact that
she used nothing but Ivory Soap Flakes for every one of
the fifty-five washings. Ivory Flakes gave her the un-
equaled purity of Ivory Soap plus the convenience and safety
of rub-less laundering. She says each washing took only
five minutes.

You may never need to wash a sweater as often as this
one was washed, but you undoubtedly own garments which
you do not want to subject to the dangers of rubbing and
of doubtful ingredients in soap. For such delicate pieces,
Ivory Flakes will give you the utmost convenience and
safety. Use it for woolens, silks, satins, laces, chiffons.
It will harm nothing that water alone will not harm.

IVORY*°AP FLAKES

Makes pretty clothes last longer

SSeSESSsS*

This

wool sweater
had 55 washings
before this picture
was taken

Send for FREE SAMPLE

with directions for the care of del-
icate garments. Address Section
45-GF, Department of Home Eco-
nomics, The Procter & Gamble Co.,
Cincinnati, Ohio.

cUhe World's Leading, Moving, (Pi&ure oAlagazine

PHOTOPLAY

Vol. xx

August, 1921

No. 3

Magic
Days

THESE are the days when the meadow calls to the asphalt man, and ti/e
asphalt calls to the meadow man; when the mountains beckon with pine
lingers to the plains, and the desert thrills at a salt whisper from the sea.

Magic days. Vacation days.

Vacation, nowadays, is synonymous with travel.

It means a rush there, a mad and incredibly brief sojourn amid discom-
forting delights, a rush back.

The dictionary tells the truth about vacation; it calls it interruption, cessa-
tion— rest.

In the "week off," or the "two weeks on pay" or the bigger holiday of a
month or three, it is quite natural to wish to "go somewhere." That wish-
raised humanity from the anthropoids. It found the pax Romana, the New
World, steam, electricity.

But how many of us can go just where we'd like to go? How many of us
fret away half our precious holiday worrying because circumstances prevented
us doing exactly what we wished and planned?

"Circumstances ?" sneered Napoleon; "I make circumstances !"

The motion picture has Napoleonically made the circumstances of the
modern holiday.

Fresh air and exercise, the indispensablcs, are within reach of every Amer-
ican, even if they re to be found only in the upper pasture or the city park.

For the rest, if you can't get to Atlantic City or Monterey, Nipigon or
Champlain, the Selkirks or the Ozarks — for the rest, consult the screen.

Before you is the greatest window' ever designed by any architect save God.
It is an open window, and through it blow at once the spices of Cathay and
the iced airs of the Arctic; through it radiate ocean blues, tropic emeralds,
minaret whites, volcanic reds, and the polychrome of all the earth's bazaars.
You cant leave home? Then you may, on a celluloid ticket, ride forth into
the panorama of the world!

THE

L ASK Y

LOT

By
RALPH BARTON

The Brothers deMille — Wil-
liam C, left, and Cecil B., right
— the presiding genii of the
Lasky Lot, who have done
more for Motion Pictures and
Riding Breeches than any
other family in the business.

Mr. William Raymond
Lasky (four months old)
looking over the place
with a view of taking
charge.

Mr. and Mrs. Anatol — Little
Wally Reid and Sic Transit
Gloria Swanson — standing out-
side Gloria s bungalow-dressing-
room wondering if Herr Schnitz-
ler is going to have screen credit,
and if so, why?

Panoramic view of the Lasky plant in Hollywood

showing the acres of modern studio buildings. Mr.

Roscoe Arbuckle in the foreground.

Why artists leave studios. Penrhyn Stanlaws, having

cast off his smock and sneezed out the last particle of

pastel dust, takes up the arduous task of directing Betty

Gompson. Some people have all the luck.

Conrad Nagel and Theodore Kosloff playing a scene

in an oil-well-town — 1. e., a gold-rush-town brought

up to date.

One of

AnatoPs

Affairs

By
DELIGHT

EVANS

IT is only fair to tell you, at the outset, that
this is not going to be an interview with Agnes
Ayres. It is not going to be an interview at
all. If you read on and on in the hope that
it is going to be one, and then learn it isn't, don't blame me.

How can it be an interview when the interviewee, in a filmy
negligee of rose color, is curled up in a bed piled with soft
pillows and downy covers? With her gold hair hanging, and
her eyes still deep with sleep?

She rubbed her eyes and ate an orange.

Interviewees very, very seldom eat oranges. There is
nothing more difficult, as I suppose you know. It is practicallv
impossible for a very pretty woman to eat an orange — a whole
orange, from a basket — without transferring the greater part
of her complexion to the orange, or vice versa. Agnes' com-
plexion stayed on. It's that kind of a complexion.

It was very early in the morning for a visiting film star
who had been dined and first-nighted the evening before —
very early, indeed, for an interview. So this isn't one.

She went to the window and opened it, letting in the good
old ozone and a generous streak of sunshine. The sunshine
touched her hair and her cheeks and her eyes. She looked
like a sleepy baby.

By this time I knew she was one hundred per cent human
being. Also a beauty. Because:

My eyes are in fairly good condition.

She did not apologize for being in bed or having her hair
down.

In the little old-fashioned frame at the left above,
you see Agnes Ayres at the age of fourteen, before
the films claimed her. And. directly above, the
same young lady, now a famous deNiille heroine.

She did not call me "dear."

After you have interviewed people for four years, little
things like that mean a lot to you.

She did not, either, ask me to contradict a certain interview
which gave the world to understand that she said nothing but
yes or no as if she were a mechanical doll. She did not have to.

She has a Greek-coin profile. A girl with a perfect profile
can rule the worldi

She very often lets you see her full-face. Not many girls
with perfect profiles do this.

Oh, yes, she can talk, too. I like that slow drawl of hers.
Some women drawl because they have so little to say they
have got to fill the conversational pauses somehow. Agnes'
drawl is as much a part of her as her half-smile. You can't
imagine her without either.

In that little half-smile of hers, Agnes Ayres provides one of
the rare visions that has intrigued poets and painters and
minstrels and men since time began. One of those inspira-
tional women. One of those who provides the theme, the
motif, the imagination for masterpieces. She is inscrutable
without knowing it.

If you told her all this, she'd laugh at you.

Because she is quiet, she is not necessarily indifferent. Not
at all. She is simply not a girl (Continued on page 72)

Here's How
It's Done

MARION FAIRFAX, long a scenario
writer of international reputation,
is at last carrying her thoughts all'
the way from script to finished photoplay —
she's her own director, now. This i-> the
first interior scene from her first production
which she is making at the Hollywood
Studios. The average patron of pictures,
while knowing that photoplays are the
result ot a combination of sunshine, celluloid
and electricity, has little idea of the
mous mechanical detail of motion picture
photography, nor of the amount of science
and technical skill entering into the taking
of the simplest scenes of nowadays.

(1) Banks of Cooper-Hewitt lamps, a
fairly familiar studio sight. This pale,
greenish light, caused by a current of
electricity flowing through mercury vapor,
is eminently adapted tor clarity and detail,
though not for sharpness of photography.
Kind as it is to photographic reproduc) ions,
the Cooper-Hewitt ray is ghastly in its
reflections upon the players' faces.

(2) Spotlights, intended to throw down
strong illumination for closeups and par-
ticular scenes.

(3) An "open arc." This powerful,
yellowish-white light gives great brilliance
to the entire setting, and is highly necessary
for sharp detail of all the surroundings.
This is the open lamp which causes the
complaint known as "Kliege eyes" among
the players: an intense, irritating affliction
caused by microscopic carbon-dust biting
beneath the lids, and so called from a par-
ticular brand of open electric lamp.

(1) A "baby spot." This cute little
implement of the electrician's revelations is
particularly a feature illuminator. It is as
portable as a chair.

(5) A reserve battery of extra Klieges,
spots, floods and arcs. In addition to the
number of pieces of electrical artillery
actually on the illuminative firing line, a
strong reserve corps awaits emergencies.

(6) The technical director, and in front of
him, the "still" camera and two operatives.
"Stills" of every important scene are made
with ordinary photographic processes that
one finds in the best portrait studios, as a
motion film is for motion only, and does not
reproduce well when its small single prints
are taken and enlarged.

( 7 ) The camera, with photographer Rene
Guissart about to photograph an intimate
little scene between Marjorie Daw and
Noah Beery — sitting on the couch, while
back of them, hand extended, is the author-
director, Miss Fairfax herself. Pat O'M il-
ley, by the way, leans forward, interestedly,
upon that nearby chair. The motion pic-
ture camera is a complicated a piece of
mechanism, costing as much as a fine auto-
mobile.

(8) A chandelier. Nowadays all lights in
a picture setting are "practical" — that is to
say they work, with switches, exactly like
the electroliers of a dwelling; but in a
picture they register merely their own
natural illumination.

Finally, notice the setting itself. This
picture i> an unusually fine example of the
modem technique of interior construction.
In the old days they built merely one room
at a time. Here, you see a whole lower floor.
The big room opens into two others, and
beyond it you may behold the vestibule
of the mimic dwelling, and stairs leading
to a presumable second floor.

The same old Mabel— Just as she looked when you first
saw her on the screen! When you go over to the same old
Sennett lot and see Mabel work.ng in "Molly O, it seems
as though the hands of the clock had been turned back!

Hello
Mabel!

Glad to see you — missed

vou a lot — you're looking

fine— SHAKE!

ADELA ROGERS

ST. JOHNS

A GXE5 AYRES and I were cosily

/\ watching the gorgeous manniquins

/ \ parade peacock-wise down the long

™" ^ French room at a fashion show in

a smart Los Angeles shop the other evening.

Suddenly a girl in a sable cape with a

black taffeta poke bonnet with red roses

came down the aisle in front of us.

"Oli, see that pretty girl in the black
bonnet," said Agnes Ayres. "Isn't she
sweet? She looks exactly like Mabel Nor-
mand used to look when I first saw her on
the screen."

I nodded agreement.
Just then the girl came opposite us, and
as she raised a white-gloved hand in gay
greeting, we said in flabbergasted chorus,
"Why— ee, Mabel!"

Because 'you see, it was Mabel Normand.
But we hadn't known her because she
did look like the Mabel Normand of ten
years ago and not at all like the Mabel we
have seen for the past two or three years.
She slipped into a seat beside pretty Mrs.
Mahlon Hamilton, and while I watched the
lure and fascination of gowns, my eyes kept
straying in her direction.

How sweet she looked! How smooth
and round and girlish her face was under that adorable poke
bonnet! How bright and smiling and interested her big,
brown eyes as she whispered to Mrs. Hamilton!
The same old Mabel.

I have a very vivid picture of the first time I ever saw Mabel
Normand. It came back to me then. It was a long time
ago — all of ten years, I'm sure. It was at night, in Al Le\ \ 's
restaurant — at that time the most famous cafe in Los Angeles.
The man with whom I was dining, after suddenly putting
down his fork, said in a hushed tone, "There's the prettiest
girl I ever saw in my life."
I turned. She was.

A round, youthful, exquisite thing, with enormous, deep
velvet brown eyes between ridiculous, exaggerated golden
lashes, a skin like peach-bloom and a saucy, curling, red mouth.
All in white, with her glinting red-brown curls tucked under a
big white leghorn hat.

Mabel Normand — at sixteen.

So that when I saw her about a year and a half ago just
before she went to New York, it did not seem possible that she

Mabel Normand as she looked just before she went away to fight her

courageous battle back to health. Contrast this sad little smile with

the superlative one on the opposite page!

could be the same girl whose arresting prettiness had made us
gasp in Al Levy's that night.

She was sitting in her car on the Goldwyn Lit.

She looked ill. She looked unhappy. But more than that,
she looked harassed, eaten up inside by something that was
bitter to her spiritual digestion.

Smiling — yes, but we all know that Mabel will go to meet
St. Peter with a smile on her face, no matter what road she goes.

Her face was sunken so that her eyes looked uncannily large
and dark. Her cheeks were the gray-white of a sea fog.
Within her rich clothes she seemed wasted away, their gorgeous-
ness hung loose about her thin frame.

She haunted me. It hurt to see her — as it hurts to see
a gorgeous, fragrant, budding Jacqueminot rose suddenly cut
from a bush and flung carelessly on the ground, helpless,
fading, bruised by sun and wind.

There were constant stories as to her failing health, her
fading beauty. There were rumors that she was photographing
very badly, and that Goldwyn — paying her an enormous
salary — was most unhappy. (Continued on page 94)

Edward Thayer Monroe

ETHEL CLAYTON stands for something very definite in the photodrama. She has given her
be<t efforts since the days of the two-reelers, to establishing a sweet and sincere character
upon the silversheet. She has not always had vehicles worthy of her talents— but her radiant
charm and her fine sense of dramatic values have made every picture in which she appeared
worth-while. After a vacation trip abroad and a period spent in the eastern studios, she is at
home again in Hollywood, California.

S OHM* |MM»|»I<'

A Constellation of Impressions by Julian Johnson

Joseph Urban

Goethe, had he been an architect;
Heinrich Heine, as Ziegfeld s chief
electrician ; hearing Wagner through
the eyes ; Caruso s voice m a paint-
brush.

Frances Marion

Mme. Balzac; it George Sand had
been beautiful; an Encyclopaedia
Britannica bound in ebony and
gold, purple and ivory; the sleek
beauty of a sixteen-inch rifle.

Marshall Neilan

Eating peanuts at Camille '; prac-
tical jokes in a barrage; Leon Errol
as Sentimental Tommy; Romeo
and Juliet, rewritten by George
M. Cohan for a Grand Canon set-
ting; Wes Barry grown up.

Mary Pickford

Orchids from an old-fashioned
garden; a Chopin nocturne played
on a May morning; Cinderella in
Chicago; an orphan child who
laughs to choke her tears when
other little girls have Christmas
presents.

James Kirkwood

The fellow who toils to make the
love-nest in Evanston while she
sees Paris; September night under
Western stars; Charles Darnay in
a Bastile of the Rocky Mountains;
Miles Standish at Delmonico's.

Mary Alden

A magnolia-blossom in an ivory
vase ; during an entr -acte at the
old French opera in New Orleans ;
the embattled women of the Con-
federacy; Vengeance, a statue in
pale lava by Rodin.

Charles Chaplin

1 he most serious man in town pass-
ing a comic mirror; a glossary of
laughter ; Aristophanes weeping and
Sophocles laughing; Cyrano de
Bergerac calling on Mr. Vander-
derbilt in a brown derby.

Seena Owen

Salammbo ; the bride of a Rameses ;
a statuette from Carthage in a
Copenhagen drawing-room ; dreams
after reading Bjornson ; Nora Hel-
mer.

George Fawcett

A great adventure re-told at sixty;
Indian summer; June twilight in
the Saskatchewan ; long-cherished
rose-leaves, smoked in a brown old
meerschaum; an acting Voltaire.

Ol£a Petrova

Night of a Romanoff day in winter
on the Nevsky Prospect; Tolstoy s
women ; a formal Italian garden ;
Portia, before the Supreme Court;
Mary, Queen of Scots.

John Barrymore

Byron at the Waldorf; lightning on
a moonlight night; The Arabian
Nights Entertainments, written by
Edgar Allan Poe ; Boccacio in Bag-
dad ; Mr. Moliere of Pa.k Avenue.

Lillian Gish

A Tschaikowsky melody, played on
a harp; lilies bending before a hur-
ricane; pearls in a scarlet box;
Madame Butterfly, born in Boston.

\5£k)

A Contest Fiction story and a recipe for laughter during hardships —

AND THREE LOVELY CHILDREN

Involving a battered push-cart, an abandoned baby,

a big-hearted cheese merchant, and an occasion

when children are a family's greatest assets.

By
T. L. SAPPINGTON

Illustrated by May IVilson Preston

W. dry

snarled Mr. Muggins, addressing the in-

/\ fant on his knee as it began to cry, and joggling it
/ \ faster than ever. "Dry up, can't you? If ever a man
~ ^ had a life I got one. Dry up!"

Mrs. Muggins, busy at the stove getting breakfast, two older
children playing near her, turned to glare at him. "Dry up
yourself!" she retorted. "You ain't fit to be a father! Three
lovely children, and you — "

"Hush!" said Mr. Muggins. He held up his hand ominously.
"Hush, before I let go of myself. I know all about my three
lovely children. Three lovely children and not even a push-
cart. A man that's fixed like me oughtn't to have no lovely
children. Three lovely children! Ho! I guess so! And the
minute I scrape up enough for a new cart along'll come some
more lovely children, you see. Oh, what a life!"

Opening her mouth to make an adequate response, Mrs.
Muggins suddenly thought the better of it, remembering that
Mr. Muggins since the day before yesterday had been a subject
more deserving of sympathy than censure. What man was
there who would not have railed at life when the very founda-
tion of his business career had been destroyed? The founda-
tion in this case being a highly ornamented pushcart with red
wheels, a sky blue body, and the name of J. Muggins lettered
upon it in bright yellow characters. All the handiwork of
J. Muggins himself.

Muggins was a huckster; a vendor of vegetables; an author-
ity upon the salable qualities of the lowly carrot, the succulent
turnip, and the ever necessary potato, with a dash of cabbages
now and then. Every morning, rain or shine, except Sunday,
he was abroad with the milkman on his way to the docks to
secure his stock in trade. And all through the long day that
followed he haunted the alleys bawling his wares at the top of
his lungs. Believe it or not, every cent J. Muggins made he
earned.

Looking forward as he toiled he had visioned the time when
the sky blue pushcart would give place to an equally ornate
four wheeled chariot with a cover, and a steed of some mettle
to draw it. But now, what was the use? He had not even the
pushcart. A careless twist of the steering wheel of a motor
truck by a heedless chauffeur in the crush of traffic at the docks,
and presto! J. Muggins' vehicle was no more. Fervid cursing
there had been on both sides, even a few blows exchanged, and
then the officer on duty had shooed J. Muggins from the scene,
insisting that he had no business in the middle of the roadway.

Calling it all to mind, Mrs. Muggins, as she served the break-
fast, admitted it was no wonder J. Muggins had told the baby
to dry up. She even regretted that she had told Mr. Muggins
to do the same thing. An engine had to blow off steam, why
not Mr. Muggins? Dumping the sausages on the table and
gashing a few slices from the loaf, she poured Mr. Muggins'
coffee, and bade him hand over her offspring and draw up to the
festal board.

"Come to think of it, Joe," she said, thrusting the nipple of
the bottle for which the baby had been shrieking into its eager
mouth, "come to think of it, I don't blame you for being put
out with things. But what's a knock down now and then as
long as you still got your legs to get up with?"

"Legs! Legs! What's legs, I'd like to know?" growled Mr.
Muggins from the depths of his coffee cup. "Legs don't hold
wegetables, do they? If my legs was bags now, it might be
different; but legs as legs is nothin' to me."

Mrs. Muggins, unable to answer this argument on the spur
of the moment, busied herself cutting bread. J. Muggins, on
the alert for her retort, eyed her aggressively.

She was a thin, anaemic looking creature with straggling
hair, but wiry and strong for all her looks, as was evidenced by
the "washes" she did daily. Rather dirty, too, if one were a
little particular, but no dirtier than J. Muggins himself, or the
children, or the two rooms they lived in.

Life for the Mugginses held no elusive problem; to keep warm
in winter, cool in summer, and as full of food as possible at all
seasons, was all that puzzled them. So far, despite the arrival
of the lovely offspring referred to, they had managed to worry
along fairly well.

But this morning, under the influence of Mr. Muggins'
gloomy remarks, things began to take on a decidedly grayish
tinge. Hence Mrs. Muggins' delay in answering.

"Well," said Mr. Muggins, after waiting a moment, "why
don't you say something?"

"What's the use," responded Mrs. Muggins, "when I ain't
got nothin' to say? Though I will say this, it's lucky it's spring
with no winter comin' on."

"Oh, it is, eh? It is, eh?" scoffed Mr. Muggins. "Ain't I
told you a hundred times that spring and summer is my best
months? Ain't that the time for wegetables? Green ones!
All kinds! Cheap and plenty, and everybody eatin''em instead
of meat. And me without a cart! Oh, what a life!"

Mrs. Muggins sighed. Then draining her cup she pushed
back her chair. "Well, anyhow," she said, "I got my washes.
That'll keep us going for a while. And maybe you can hire a
cart."

"Tried it!" announced Mr. Muggins, shortly. "No go — not
this time o' year! We're done for! That's what!"

"No such a thing!" protested Mrs. Muggins, savagely. "I
ain't if you are! Not while I got my washes. And I'd be
ashamed, Joe Muggins, givin' up so easy, with a good home and
three lovely children. I tell you — "

Lighting his pipe with a live coal, Mr. Muggins spat into the
fire viciously. "That'll do! That's enough! And now where's
them clothes you want me to leave for you at the Schultz's?"

"I'll leave 'em myself," said Mrs. Muggins. "You go set in
the square on a bench in the sun. It'll do you good."

Mr. Muggins hesitated. He knew what sitting on a bench in
the square meant; it meant his three lovely children would sit
there with him. Therefore he hesitated, and, hesitating, was lost.

Swiftly snatching up a shawl Mrs. Muggins wrapped it about
her youngest and thrust the mite into Mr. Muggins' arms before
he could remonstrate. Then clapping dilapidated coverings on
the heads of J. Muggins, junior, and Annie, "after her
mother," she pushed the quartette to the door and down the
staircase.

"Good bye!" she said. "And set over by the fountain so the
children can see the sparrers bathin*. And look out for the
baby's bottle I put in your pocket."

J. Muggins, resigned to his fate, and disdaining an}' response,
plodded down the street with the baby on one arm, and J.
Muggins, junior, clutching his free hand and towing his sister
after him.

The square — a small one — one of the city's breathing places,
was only a few blocks from the Muggins tenement, but the
benches by the fountain on a fine dav like this were apt to be
filled.

So Mr. Muggins in his determination to secure one moved at
a pace somewhat faster than legs like those of J. Muggins,
junior, and Annie, "after her mother," were built for. As a
consequence, two of Mr. Muggins' three lovely children, after
desperate efforts to keep up with the procession first by trotting
and then by galloping, threw up the sponge in despair and

'Hush, before I let goof myself," said Mr.
Muggins. "Three lovely children and not
even a push-cart! A man that's fixed like
me oughtn t to have no lovely children ! "

3°

Photoplay Magazine

allowed themselves to be hauled along like the sacks of potatoes
Mr. Muggins frequently handled. Mr. Muggins, becoming
aware of this after a few moments travelling, stopped im-
patiently.

"Are you comin', or ain't you?" he inquired of his bewildered
progeny. "Maybe you think I'm going to carry you, too.
Well, I ain't!"

After which he resumed his way with a rush and was imme-
diately rewarded by a repetition of the potato sack perform-
ance. "Lord love us!" remarked Mr. Muggins, stopping again.
"Ain't we ever going to get there? Here you two, — run in
front of me, an' keep your feet agoin' so / can't upset you."

Two benches
faced the fountain
in Webster Square,
as the breathing
spot was known,
one on each side at
the intersection of
the pathways, and
on but one was
there room for Mr.
Muggins and his
family. A stout
man with a red
face sat at one end
of that. He had
his hat off and
was mopping his
brow with a ban-
danna handker-
chief. When he
observed the new
arrivals he stopped
his mopping and
smiled at them.

"Hot, ain't it?"
he remarked. "Al-
most as hot as
summer. Gee, I
hate hot weather.
Cold is what /like.
Freezin' cold."

Mr. Muggins,
with the baby on
his lap and the
other two children
in solemn attitudes
on the far side of
the bench, smoked
solidly. He had
nothing to say.
What was the wea-
ther to him?

''Them kids
now," went on the

stranger, after a moment, "why don't you let 'em play around
a bit? It's good for kids to play around."

Turning, Mr. Muggins eyed the other sourly. "You lei 'em
alone," he growled. "They ain't a-hurtin' you, are they.'"

"Sure they ain't hurtin' me," replied the fat man, rather
abashed. "I only thought it was kind of dull for 'cm settin'
there. Me, I like kids around. And my wife, too. We been
married twelve years and not a chick or a child."

"Humph!" grunted Mr. Muggins-. He loosened the baby's
shawl a trifle and wiggled his knee as it began to fret. "Well,
what you kickin' about then? S'pose you had three like I got?
What a life! Them that wants 'em don't get 'em, and them
that don't, does."

The fat man nodded. "That's what my wife says. And if
we don't get one, she says, we'll take one from a home or some-
thing. It's lonely without no kids. Not so much for me,
maybe. I got my shop — delicatessen shop, you know — cheeses
and all. But my wife gets lonely. What's the baby's name?"

"Nothin'!" responded Mr. Muggins, curtly. "What's the
good of giving her a name when she ain't a-going to grow up
to use it?"

"Eh!" said the fat man, rather startled. "Sick, is she?"

"No, she ain't sick," retorted Mr. Muggins, producing the
milk bottle from his pocket, "but she will be if she don't get
plenty of this. And how is she going to get it when I'm ruined?
Clean ruined! Done for!"

^Oraun by 'l\prman ^Anthony

THE END (When the star directs her own picture.)

"Oh, that's it!" said the fat man. He nodded gravely.
Then leaned forward the better to watch as Mr. Muggins gave
the infant refreshment. "Gee, but don't she like it? Why
don't you take the shawl off her legs so she can kick better?
Cute little tike. See? She's kind o' laughing at me! Don't
take much to make a baby happy, does it?"

"Don't take much to make nobody happy!" snarled Mr.
Muggins. "But if you can't get it, what then? Just look at
me! A good business a couple of days ago, and now — nothin'.
Done for! Oh, what a life!"

Had Mr. Muggins been a philosopher he would have known
that the best way to bear your troubles is not to dwell

upon them. But
being merely a
vendor of vegeta-
bles he stubbornly
refused to erase
them from his
memory for a
moment. As a
consequence he
was rapidly ap-
proaching a condi-
tion bordering on
frenzy.

The prosperous
appearance of the
fat stranger irri-
tated him. A fine
business and no-
body but himself
and wife to pro-
vide for. No lovely
children to feed or
fret over. Why
couldn't he have
had the baby in-
stead of it coming
to the Mugginses?
His wife was crazy
for a baby. She
was even thinking
of taking a charity
kid. A charity kid
that was already
being well taken
care of where it
was. Why didn't
she take a kid that
needed to be taken
care of? What
was the matter
with J. Muggins'
kid? The fat man
liked her. Sure,
he did. Look at
him poking her, now she was through with her bottle.
Slowly a daring idea crystallized in Mr. Muggins' brain.
Three lovely children might be all right from Mrs. Muggins'
viewpoint, but if you asked him, J. Muggins, he'd tell you that
two lovely children were to be much preferred under present
distressing conditions.

In short, Mr. Muggins suddenly decided to pull off a near
imitation of the old, old stunt of leaving his infant child on
somebody's doorstep; but where the originator of the scheme
forsook her offspring for good, Mr. Muggins intended that his
separation from the baby should only be temporary. Even
had he wanted it otherwise he knew Mrs. Muggins wouldn't
have agreed. Maybe she wouldn't agree anyhow, that is, at
first, but after he explained, she would. Wasn't it all for the
baby's good? Didn't it even mean the life of her, maybe?
Sure it did! Mrs. Muggins would certainly see that.

Sooner or later, just as Mrs. Muggins had suggested, he'd
be on his legs again. Until that time he'd leave the kid in
the fat man's charge and take a walk with J. Muggins, junior,
and Annie, "after her mother." Then some day when he was
back on easy street, he'd hunt up the fat man, give him a
spiel about an accident that had kept him from coming back-
to the park, and how he'd been hunting for the baby ever since.
The sheer cleverness of the scheme thrilled Mr. Muggins.
He was amazed to think he could concoct such a plan. He
hadn't dreamt it was in him. {Continued on page 96)

An Open

Letter to

Mme. Alia

Nazimova

THE most important news of the
month, to the writer, is the fact
that, by mutual consent, you
have severed your connection
with the Metro Pictures Corporation,
after three years' work with them.

You have announced no plans for the
future.

I am thinking of you, Madame, in
"A Doll's House" and in "Hedda
Gabler," and I remember how, when I
was a college girl and had a week's
vacation in New York to see the shows,
I went seven times to see you do
"Nora."

I remember how I followed you from
Salt Lake City to a neighboring town,
to see you do "Bella Donna" a second
time.

I am thinking of the first time I saw
you on the screen in "Revelation" and
of how I walked out of the theater with
my throat tight and my head high,
because in a sense you "belonged to me"
and had done so nobly. My mind was
all alight and singing with the demon-
stration that we could have as great acting on the screen as we
have had on the stage. I rejoiced that Mary Pickford need
not be the only artist to hold high the torch of great dramatic
art on the silver sheet.

And, as I walk along the quiet streets this later evening, I
whisper over and over, "Why?"
Madame, why?

What has happened to the great actress, the splendid genius,
the incomparable artiste?

Where is Nazimova, the tragedienne, the comedienne?
How can the woman who made New York like Ibsen, who
actually startled the American theater into newness of life,
make pictures like "Madame Peacock," "Billions" and "The
Brat?" And now "Camille," played with a Fiji Island
make-up?

No worse, of course, than many other pictures — but as
Nazimova pictures — Good heavens!

How caayou, Alia the Great, still capable of such flashes of
dynamic emotional triumph as the death scene in "Camille,"
attach your name to a conglomerate, meaningless, inhuman,
grotesque characterization like "Madame Peacock?"

We say very little when day by day producers present to us
pretty doll-baby stars, who charm our eyes like the pictures
in a baby's "Mother Goose" book. What can we expect from
these girls? They do all they promise or offer to do.
But Nazimova —

You are a different story. For we are also very business-
like. We do not like to think that we are being cheated. We
do not like to have "anything put over on us." If a manu-
facturer falls down on the quality of his goods, we cease to
buy them.

A very fine actor, who must be nameless, but whose work on
stage and screen has always represented sincere and honest
effort and a high degree of merit, said 10 me the other day:
"I resent it. I resent it hotly. I feel that the work which
Nazimova has done of late — so inferior in every way to the
work we all know she can do — is an insult to her at t, and to a
public which has exalted and enriched her."

I feel just like that.

Nazimova, you are a great actress. I cannot bring myself
to write "have been a great actress." Things that you have
done in the past stand side by side with the great things < 1
American acting. But can it be a great actress who asks us
to accept such pap as "Billions" — a great actress who offers
us such burlesque as "Madame Peacock.-'"

It is not because you have not had opportunity. With Metro
you have had the choice of everything, the pick of everything.
You have been favored in every way, to the exclusion of every-
thing and everyone else. You have had all the money for
yourself and for productions you could ask. You have
demanded and received probably the largest salary ever paid
a slar by any company.

You have insisted on selecting, casting, practically directing,
cutting and titling your own pictures.

In the opinion of many who have worked with you, you have
tried to do too much. Either you have feared to trust anyone
else, or you have decided that you are more efficient in every
line than anyone else. Or both.

Perhaps you have come, unfortunately, to that place where
you believe the whispering chorus that :ays "The Queen can
do no wrong." Perhaps you forget all the props that held you
up in "Nora." Perhaps you think the (Continued on page 94)

EXPRESSING THE MODE THAT FOLLOWS

HOW could anyone resist this French hat of
organdie — with its blue crown and its
delicious brim of white petals edged in blue?
There is, too, a fascinating black ribbon which
curls coquettishly over Mademoiselle's little
ear and in soft summer breezes follows her
faithfully to tea. For your organdie frock
you should have such a chapeau as this.
(Model from Maison de Blanc Grande.)

S~i ALTHOUGH my pages
\Sjl are called a "Fashion
Department," I am not at all
sure that they are anything of
the kind! For I have not at-
tempted and will not attempt
to dictate the mode. There are
many fashion magazines whose
sole aim it is to accomplish this.
I wish simply to take every
woman reader of Photoplay
for a stroll up Fifth Avenue,
New York's great street of
smart shops, and talk to her,
as we stroll, about the many
wonderful things we should
see. When I go to Paris I shall
go chiefly for her benefit, bring-
ing back to her the observations
of my visits to the Parisian
ateliers of fashion. In short,
she will see, in this Magazine,
every whim of the moment's
mode as though she had jour-
neyed to Manhattan or Paris
in person! And any question
she wishes to ask will gladly th-
an sw

_Q£U3ll>l \jQjjL.

rU3^dh

I AM sure you will agree with
me that a most important
part of every woman's summer
wardrobe is a silk sweater. For
sports or informal afternoon
wear, this one, above, is highly
desirable. It is striped in many
shades — you may take your
choice of grey and pink, blue
and orange, or any contrasting
colors. Wearing it, you en-
hance the beauty of the summer
day.
Model from Maison de Blanc Grande.

CONTINUING the Observations of Carolyn
Van Wyclc. who conducts PHOTOPLAYS
Fashion Department. ' Carolyn Van Wyck
is the nom de plume of a New York society woman
who is an established authority in matters of dress.
She was chosen to edit this department not only
for her good taste, but because her peculiar gifts
enable her to discuss fashions with every woman —
whether she is one of those fortunate beings who
can indulge her every sartorial whim, or one of the
many more who can count her frocks on the fingers
of one hand. As a service to the readers of this
Magazine, Miss Van Wyck will answer any ques-
tions you may care to ask her, by mail or in PHO-
TOPLAY. If you wish an answer by post, enclose
stamped addressed envelope. This month Miss
Van Wyck s answers will be found on Page 108.

NOTHING more delightful has ever come
to us from Paris than LeGolliwogg: this
impertinent, fuzzy-haired black boy who
guards so well your favorite scent! His head
may be removed whenever his grin becomes
too persistent — or whenever you wish a drop
of the perfume. From Vigny comes Le
Golliwogg.

ALL THE MYRIAD MOODS OF SUMMER

UST little things,
sketched at the
left, but so import-
ant ! To my mind,
no summer costume
is complete without
the correct belt or
collar or kerchief. A
collar and cuff set is
indeed indispensable
to the girl on vaca-
tion. I consider these
the most interesting
of any I have seen, in
white net, with black
ribbons to make sau-
cy little bows at neck
and wrists. You see,
sketched here, two
very new belts, which
you may wear with
your sports costume
or your tailored suit.
They are in brown
and black with chains of galalith. Here,
too, is just the handkerchief for your glove
— with round corners and initial. The
stripe may be in any color — to match your
blouse and hat. (From Maison de Blanc Grande. )

The

Observations

Carolyn

Van Wyck

WHETHER you have only one suit or
several, you can scarcely get along
without at least one of the crisp little guimpes.
One of the smartest I have noticed is this,
above from Maison de Blanc Grande, which
is hand-embroidered in blue dots upon white
organdie. You may, if you are clever, make
one like it yourself. Doubtless
you will be as pleased with it as
this pert young lady!

A CHARM IXC sports costume is that sketched
above. I would choose it whether I were a lady
with unlimited wardrobe, or one who may have only one
frock for summer outings. It is practical because of its
simplicity. This model, from the Maison de Blanc
Grande, is developed in brown with darker stripes. See
the jaunty fringe on skirt and pockets — how unmistak-
ably French! With it, wear a dainty blouse of silk.

YOUR Parisian lady of fashion takes as great delight in her boudoir accessories as in her costumes. The perfume containers on her
dressing-table are often as rare as the scents themselves. For powder, perfume, and bath salts there are graceful bottles of glass
and enamel, or powder boxes disguised as curtsying china dolls. A few graceful examples from Leigh's of New York have been sketched
for you above. The bowing ballet dancer at the extreme right is really a necessary part of a perfume burner. Sprinkle your favorite
perfume in the jar in which she rests, attach the electric bulb which is hidden by her skirts, and your boudoir is scented with jasmin,
lilac, violet — . Please do not overlook that most original little bottle there, at the left of the china lady. Simply a bit of gay paper
deftly twisted about the container' — but very, very French! Finally — at the left — I am showing you the newest silk handbag,
imported by Maison de Blanc Grande, which has been developed as a daisy, with unusually graceful petals and leaves of galalith.

IN nine out of every ten movie scenarios submitted to the
readers of the great producing companies, the hero is called
upon to ride hoss-back.
Sometimes the hero is a dashing cowboy or a daredevil
sheriff and as such is supposed to lope down the village street
astride a calico pony or a bounding bronch', a Mexican saddle
atop.

Sometimes the script calls for him to ride in a saddle about
the size of a pigskin bill-fold. This is called the English gentle-
man style.

Otherwise the hero may trot briskly (really, it is the horse
who trots, you know) astride a McClellan army saddle.

Most screen heroes do not care for these parts.

After a week of rehearsals and the real shooting of the scenes,
they are prone to eat their breakfasts off the mantel-piece,
which is a somewhat undignified manner of breakfasting, espe-
cially fo,' a leading man.

But Jack Holt yearns for these parts. He never gets 'em,
and thus the irony of Fate is once more drawn to our attention.

Jack Holt is a horseman, a regular horseman, because he
likes it.

The fact that Holt looks real heroic in riding toggery has
nothing to do with it. He positively likes to ride hoss-back,
and he likes it so thoroughly and extensively that he rides hoss-
back between home and studio every day of his life.

He's the only man in Hollywood I know who consistently
rides hoss-back. Of course, there are a lot of people who take
a ride once in a while. But Holt actually rides back and forth
from his home to the Lasky studio every day. And when you
see him, you feel such an exhilaration that you wonder why
more people in this country don't take advantage of their
opportunities.

One star whom I questioned on that point (it happened to
be Wally Reid) explained it this way: "You see in the old days
when we made nothing but westerns, we rode all day six days
a week to earn a living. Then on Sunday, because most of us
couldn't afford cars in those days, we rode for amusement.
We rode back and forth to work because that was the only
way we could get there. Now we are so fed up with horses
we're glad if we never have to look at one again."

But Jack Holt never made westerns. And he was brought
up in a hard-riding, fox-hunting country, where a man rode
just the same as he ate or took a bath.

Off a hoss he's a quiet, normal sort of chap, courteous, easy
to talk to, possessed of a gentle, dry humor that gets by you
unless you are watching for it. He isn't particularly interested
in pictures. He refuses to talk shop. He goes to the studio as
another man goes to his office. It is a business with him,
that's all.

He is a "family man," in every sense of the word. A charm-

Wanted: a Chance
to Ride!

Jack Holt is the expert equestrian

of the film colony — but he never

made a "western" in his life !

By
JOAN JORDAN

ing wife whom he adores and three lovely children, the
youngest only a few months old. He tells you about them and
even carries snapshots in his wallet, like any other proud young
father. He showed me the first letter his eldest, a girl of nine,
had written him when they sent her to a famous out-of-doors
school near Hollywood for a few months.

"Dear Father," it read, "I like it hear very much. Please
send me a wrist watch some leggins some jacks the big kind a
red tie for my middy blows two books a riding horse and a
dollar. Love to all."

Then some snapshots of a beautiful boy, nearly two, evi-
dently the idol of his father's heart.

"He's got my number," he admitted with a sheepish grin.
"When he doesn't want to go to bed at night, he climbs in my
lap and begins to hug and kiss me, so I'll let him stay up."

The Holts live in a beautiful, simple country place, far
enough back in the foothills to seem entirely removed from city
life in any form. It is very English, with its gables, rambling
wings and sweeping terraces, somehow a fitting setting for
Jack Holt and his horses.

Altogether, Jack Holt seems to lead the life of an English
country gentleman rather than an actor. His estate absorbs
all his spare time. His family absorbs all his spare thoughts.
He is, I think, getting a great deal more out of life than most
people do today. He has not been dragged down into the
maelstrom of speed that has absorbed most men in this era.
He is a good bit of a philosopher and the burden of his philos-
ophy is that once having learned that there is nothing but
content to be gained from life, one need not strive for such
outside things as wealth, fame and power beyond a certain
limit.

"I like being outdoors," he said as we strolled down the lawns
to view a bed of hyacinths of which he was justly proud.
"People don't stay outdoors enough. It's a mistake to let
either work or play become your master.

"There are certain things that are a legitimate right — home,
children, pleasures, congenial work. Evolution and revolution
are leading us to see that everybody must have these things
— neither more nor less. But we mast get back to the outdoors,
back to such things as gardening, tennis, swimming, sunshine,
— to the simple, normal pleasures.

"I enjoy a good many things. I don't propose to give them
up or to wait until I am too old to enjoy them. The world will
go on and you will go on just the same if you don't get too
excited about things."

He likes his work in pictures. He particularly enjoyed — so
he told me — working with William de Mille in "Midsummer
Madness." He liked the depths and riches of that directors
leisurely mental processes. He liked the time to enjoy his
characterization.

WEST is EAST

A Few Impressions
By DELIGHT EVANS

WELL, Folks, I
Am Among
The Immortals.

Had Luncheon

With

The Queen of Sheba.

All Alone — Just

The Queen

And I — Solomon

Wasn't Around. And

She Was

Just as Gorgeous

As Ever — Except

That she Wore

A Few More Beads.

Gee, but

I Just Love

Betty Blythe!

You Never Saw a Girl

Any Prettier

Than Betty Sheba; and she

Has the Disposition that

Usually Goes

With

A Snubbed Nose

And Freckles. She's

As Unconcerned as

The Venus de Milo and

Never Seems to Notice it

When Everybody

Turns Around and

Stares after her —

On Broadway, New York, or

Broadway, California.

There

Was a Duchess — a Real One-
Stopping

At the Same Hotel
With Betty
In Manhattan; but
Nobody Knew
She was There. Betty
May have Been Born
In Los Angeles, but
She has it All Over
A Lot of People who
Were Raised Right in
History's Most
Romantic Cradles.
(There — isn't that
A Smooth, Round Phrase?)
She May Do

"Mary Queen of Scots" for
The Films; and if she Does,
She'll Go Abroad
To Make it — exchange
Hollywood for
Holyrood, in Other Words.
And Just to Show you
That I Think she's
A Good Actress, I'll Bet
She'll be Just as Convincing
In Mary Stuart's
Stiff Brocades as
She was

In Sheba's Beads.
And that's Going Some.

Wally Reid was being shaved
and still he looked human.

WALLY REID
Was Being Shaved.
His Famous Features
Were Well Disguised.
His Immaculate Hair
Was Smeared with Soap.
And Still-
He Looked Human.
"Glad to
See You, after
Three Years,"
He Gurgled,
"I haven't

Changed a Bit — honest.
But now

Thev've got me Crying
As 'Peter Ibbetson' still" —
Slap—

"I'm the Same Old" — ■
Splush!
"Anatol

Was a Part I Liked.
Peter is about as Far from
Anatol as" —
Swish —

"You know, I'm
Human — too Human, Maybe.
Anyway,

I Love — "

The Barber

Pulled him Back

By the Hair —

"I Love

Life. I Love

Fun. And

Romance.

That's why

I Loved to do Anatol.

He was a Real

Human Being."

The Reason Wally

Was Being Shaved

Was Because he

Had Five Engagements

For Four-thirty, and he

Was Trying to Keep

Two of them.

"Say — vou ought to see

The Kid.

Here" — he

Knocked the Barber Down and

Grabbed a Picture in a

Silver Frame —

"This is Bill. He

Looks like an Angel but

He isn't. He's

A Roughneck. He — "

The Barber

Successfully Smothered

The Rest in a

Hot Wet Towel.

Wally wears a Ring, with

A Crest — "Toujours l'Audace."

Remember his Picture,

"Always Audacious"?

It's a Good Motto.

He was Nearly Mobbed

The Other Day at

Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue.

The Cop

Stopped Traffic when he

Found out it was Wally Reid — he

Probably Knew his Daughters

Would Never Forgive him

If he Missed a Chance

To Shake Hands with Wally.

Every Girl in New York

Is Trying to

Get a Job

As Extra in

"Peter Ibbetson."

Can't Say I Blame 'Em.

There's Nothing

Upstage about

Wallace Reid.

In fact, he

S.iys the Reason

He Can't Get Along

With Some Upstage People is

Because they're

Riding on the Elevated

And he's in the Subway.

And then he Left

To Keep that Appointment —

One of them.

He was Only

Half an Hour Late.

SNIP GO THE CENSOR'S SCISSORS

Forty Years of Bathing

Fashions — Has Civilization

Progressed ?

OBSERVE, ok gentry, the
comfortable, commodi-
ous ana carefree swim-suit
worn by tne young lady
above. It is, as I suppose
you know, an Annette Keller-
man, which means that it s
a suit to swim in. If they
don t permit her on many
public beaches, tne censors
surely aren t going to allow
her to swim in celluloid.

ABOVE: Helen Ray. She
is modest and shy, in
her modern beach costume
of satin and sequins, but
that will not prevent the snip
of the censors scissors from
separating her from the pic-
ture she was to have played
in. Personally, we can nnd
no fault with Helen or her
marine manners; but then,
we are not a censor.

HERE we have a model which
has been called The Censors
Delight. Who would guess that

its wearer is the same young lady —
Maurice Gostin, by name — driving
the frog ? This is the bathing cos-
tume in vogue in Godey s Lady s
Book and the deserted beaches
forty years ago. It may be the
vogue next season, if the elderly
ladies of both sexes have every-
thing their own way.

'"Our box at the opera will be unoccupied tonight — and Caruso
is singing Pagliacci. It was the voice of the tempter.

THE SIGN ON THE DOOR

From the scenario made from
the play of the same name

A tale of many loves that were
false and one that proved true,

by CHANNING POLLOCK

by GENE SHERIDAN

THE swift burst of the windborne storm of rain and light-
ning sent Lafe Regan out over his ranch to round up.his
stock into the safety of the corral near the little home
tucked up in the remoteness of the Wyoming hills. By
his side on this strenuous mission rode his staunch friend and
companion, Colonel Bill Gaunt. The evening twilight had
fallen and the lights shone from the windows of the cabin with
the cheery glow that means home over all the world.

With the cattle safe in the sheds the rugged riders galloped
toward the house.

"It's good to be married and have a home on a night like
this," Regan shouted across in the storm to Gaunt.

The laugh in his voice died as he saw the cabin door swinging
in the wind. Hurriedly dismounting Regan strode into the
cabin and over to the cradle where his baby girl Helen lay
under her quilts. Gaunt was close behind him.

Regan bent over the baby.

"Where's your mother?"

Gaunt's quick eye took in the scene of confusion and the
signs of a hasty departure. He swept the walls and came upon
a scrap of a note.

"Regan!" he exclaimed. "Look at the wall!"

"Gone with Steve," the note said.

Regan read the note with horror and anger mingling in his
countenance. Gaunt looked on with awed sympathy.

Regan jerked himself out of his stunned stupor and slapped
savagely at his revolver holster. He swung out of the house,
pushing Gaunt aside as he interposed an effort at calming
words. In the yard Regan leaped on his horse and rode off at a
gallop through the roaring storm down the lone and single trail
that led toward the settlement and civilization. Gaunt hur-
ried after him.

In the distance down the trail speeding as fast as they might
Regan's wife and the interloping Steve rode.

Flood water from the storm swept over the bridge ahead
across a stream that cut t lie trail, turning it in to a dangerous ford.

On their horse, exhausted with his double burden, Steve and
Mrs. Regan pulled up at the raging stream. Behind them in
the deluging rain Regan came thundering down, with Bill
Gaunt riding close behind.

Regan pulled up beside them as Steve tried to urge his horse
into the stream. The rancher snatched off his hat and slapped
across at the head of Steve's horse to blind it, meanwhile with
his other hand clutching at his revolver.

Steve with a frenzy of spurs forced his horse forward, fumb-
ling at the wet holster at his belt.

As the horse bearing the runaway pair pushed into the torrent
Regan whipped out his revolver.

Gaunt, coming up just as Regan was ready to fire, knocked
the gun from his hand.

Photoplay Magazine

"You see you are my daughter — the one I never
Had — and 1 d give my life to save you a tear.

"No, Lafe, she isn't worth it."

Regan, thwarted in his revenge, flamed with wrath.

The eloping wife and Steve gained the opposite shore and
galloped over the trail and out of view.

"Come, Lafe!" Regan turned to look into the kindly eyes of
his friend Gaunt. He sat a moment perplexed, then reached
out and took Gaunt's hand in silence.

Presently the men turned their horses back on the trail and
retraced their way to the ranch house. The day was to come
when Bill Gaunt was to be repaid for his sympathy in his own
coin of kindness, in another time and place.

******

IN the hills of Wyoming the virtue and sanctity of woman is an
accepted traditional fact and the living contradictions of it are
as uncommon there as they are unfortunately frequent in the
mephitic glamour of the lights of Broadway in the great sky-
scraper-spired city on the seaboard across the nation to the
eastward.

While Lafe Regan was winning himself back to happiness,
sanity and prosperity on that Wyoming ranch, destiny was
playing tricks with the girl way across there in New York who
was later to figure so importantly in his greatest joys, his great-
est sorrows and in the bliss of his ultimate peace.

The office of old John Devereaux, banker, took a note of
poise from the winsome personality of his secretary, Miss Ann
Hunniwell. Ann was a calm, collected, sincere type, brunette,
dark-eyed and thoughtful. She had that precision and accu-
racy that typifies the secretaries of big business men, and she

had over and above this the charm of a femininity
that was not aggressive.

Old Banker Devereaux was busy with his mail
when his swaggering son Frank walked in and
sauntered up to his father's desk. The young man
looked at Ann with an evident interest and atten-
tion. Frank Devereaux always noticed women.
His father turned to Ann.
"That's all now, Miss Ann."
Ann picked up her papers and withdrew to her
adjoining office.

Devereaux scowled up at his son.
"What is it now, Frank?"

"Nothing but a little money, dad," the young
man returned lightly. "About three hundred."
The older man touched a button. Ann appeared.
"Please make out a check for Frank Devereaux
for three hundred dollars."
Ann withdrew on her errand.
Frank swaggered out of the office, through the
door into the niche where Ann sat at her desk.

"Here's your check." Ann held it up to him.
As he took the check she busied herself with her
papers.

"Miss Ann!"

She looked up, surprised to find him still standing
there.

"Miss Ann, will you let me take you out to
dinner?"

Embarrassed and surprised, Ann looked up at
young Devereaux and colored. While she was try-
ing to find a graciously polite way to say no, Frank
leaned closer to her with his most coaxing smile.

"Our box at the opera will be unoccupied tonight
— and Caruso is singing Pagliacci."

Ann's eyes lighted up at this, but she sobered in
a second.

"No, I think I had better not."
But Frank urged and pleaded. He won.
The evening at dinner and the opera passed
swiftly for Ann, radiant with pleasure at this little
touch of gaiety in her rather modestly frugal life.
Frank rushed her into his motor car.
"It has been wonderful of you to give me this
pleasant evening," said Ann in expression of a gen-
uine gratitude.

Frank felt rather pleased with himself.
"And now some supper for Cinderella!"
"Oh, but really, — no- — I have to be up early in
the morning, and—."

But again Frank Devereaux had his way.
The car stopped in front of a cafe. There was
the jumbling of sensuous jass orchestras and the
sound of dancing feet. Above at the head of the stairway was
a hall on either side of which ranged the flagrantly famed pri-
vate dining rooms of the Cafe Mazzarin.

Into this lobby and up those stairs Devereaux led Ann.
At the head of the steps the proprietor met them and bowed
with deference to young Devereaux, throwing open a private
room. He ushered them in.

Ann looked about her, slightly disquieted by her discovery
of the planned privacy of the place and its appointments. The
small table in the center of the room was attractively set for
two.

The waiter took Frank's hat and stick and hung them on a
hall tree. Ann followed the action with her eye and caught a
penetrating glance from the waiter.
Ann stood ill at ease.
Frank smiled at her uneasiness.

The supper was well under way when the waiter entered with
wine on a tray, pouring a glass for each of them.

"But Mr. Devereaux, I do not drink." There was alarm in
Ann's protest.

"Oh, come now — it's wonderful wine." Devereaux put his
most persuading smile into his plea.

Trying to be at least polite about it Ann took a sip, making a
wry face before she tasted the drink. Frank smiled.
"Now try it again."
Ann did. She came up with a smile.
"Yes, it is nice."

The waiter went out. As he left Frank leaned over and put
his hand on Ann's arm.

Photoplay Magazine

Ann drew back with a look of fear in her face.

At this moment the waiter entered again, bearing a tray with
another course. Frank scowled at the interruption. Ann
sensed something in his attitude now that made her tremble
within. As the waiter was putting the new course on the table
she rose.

"I think I'd rather go home, now."

"Nonsense," Frank interposed. "And supper not finished!
Please sit down, .Miss Ann!"

Frank gently pushed her into her chair and ordered the
waiter to hurry up the supper. But Ann was ill at ease and
thoroughly alarmed.

When the waiter came again he placed the order in an uncom-
fortable silence. Even he could read the contempt with which
Ann was looking at Devereaux.

The service completed, the waiter drew up to Frank's chair
with his most deferential manner.

"May I speak to you a moment, sir?"

Together the waiter and Frank stepped aside.

"There's a gentleman downstairs asking for Mr. Devereaux,"
the waiter whispered hesitantly. "I think it's vour father,
sir."

Frank frowned with a look of annoyance and went out.

The waiter stiffened, alertly eyeing the door. He looked over
at Ann.

"I beg pardon, Miss — but do you know where you are?"

"Why — why, yes," Ann stammered, vague and amazed.
"The Cafe Mazzarin."

"No, you don't know! I didn't think you did," the waiter
answered with a dry laugh. "That's why I spoke."

Ann's breath came fast. Her heart sank. What the waiter
had said was enough to confirm all her fears.

"What shall I do?" She looked at him beseechingly.

"Get out now."

Ann gave the waiter one surprised glance, then ran to the
hall tree and seized her coat.

The waiter hurried to assist her and thrust two one dollar
bills into her hand. She protested. The waiter was impatient.

"You've got to get out of here, quick."

Ann excitedly fumbled at her hand and pulled off a tiny gold
ring set with a diminutive emerald, thrusting it into the
waiter's hand.

Below, Frank Devereaux came upon the proprietor and
asked if anyone had been inquiring for him. The proprietor
shook his head.

Ann was just at the door expressing her thanks to the waiter
when she heard Frank returning. She drew back into the room
in a flash and tossing off her coat sat at the table again.

Frank entered scowling.

Across the street from the Cafe Mazzarin in a dark doorway
stood a police captain. A plainclothes man emerged from the
cafe, strode casually out and down the corner. There he met
his chief in consultation.

Devereaux pushed a glass of wine toward the girl. She shook
her head.

"I must go now — really."

"You mustn't do that," Devereaux protested. He took on
his most engaging air.

"Piease. I want to go."

Devereaux snarled at her.

The girl sprang toward the door. Devereaux intercepted her
and turning the key in the lock slipped it into his pocket.

Ann stood up infuriated.

"Open that door!"

Ann rushed to the door and shook it violently.

"They're used to ladies who get theirs and then run away,"
Frank sneered.

"I have had enough of this!"

For reply Devereaux seized her arms and pulled her to him.

"Now give me a kiss, little madcap!"

Strong in her fright Ann struggled against her captor.

"Kiss me!"

"I have the negative. The photographers call that a print. Your husband
might call it proof." There was a mocking, triumphant sarcasm in his tone.

Photoplay Magazine

The flashlight from the Cafe Mazzarin — damning circumstance

id a li

Devereaux crushed Ann to him and kissed her full in her pro-
testing mouth.

The girl closed her eyes in revulsion, then summoned her
strength for the struggle. Devereaux threw her against the
table and she sprang back from it as he seized her again. She
clawed and struck at him ineffectually, with all the hideous
terror of one running from an inescapable horror in a nightmare.
She screamed at the top of her lungs and beat at his chest with
her clenched fists.

Across the street the police captain emerged from his door-
way and looked up and down the street. He signalled to his
men. The raid on the Cafe Mazzarin began.

Police plunged into the lobby and ran up the stairs. Officers
battered at the closed doors of the private dining rooms. Pro-
testing painted women flung insults at the officers.

The battle of Ann and Frank Devereaux was going on. The
girl was fighting back Devereuax with all her strength. The
raiders reached the door of their dining room.

"Open up there! Open up."

Devereaux looked alertly about him a moment, then sprang
to the door and unlocked it.

Ann, exhausted, disheveled, drew her cloak about her as the
police entered. A newspaper photographer was behind them.

"Why do you interrupt our supper?" Frank was self-
possessed and assured now. He pointed at the table.

The policeman in charge smiled with a sneer. The situation
was too obvious.

"Come on." He urged them toward the throng of arrested
couples in the hall.

The photographer stepped back and raising his camera
pulled a flashlight, picturing Ann and Frank in the custody of
the policeman.

Frank started and turned on the photographer. He pulled a
handful of bills from his pocket.

"Give you a hundred dollars for that negative."

"Sold," replied the photographer, pulling the plate holder
from the camera and handing it to Devereaux.

The police bundled off the crowd from the Cafe Mazzarin to
the Night Court. Ann and Devereaux appeared before the judge.

"I'm innocent. I did not know where I was going. I did
not want to go there," Ann pleaded.

The worldly-wise and weary judge shook his head skeptically.

"I do not believe any young woman can be taken some place
that she does not want to go — you are fined ten dollars each for
disorderly conduct."

Devereaux grinned and reaching into his pocket tossed two
ten dollar bills on the desk of the clerk of the court.

Together Ann and Devereaux went down the aisle. He was
grinning and carefree. She went with head down, crimson with
shame. (Continued on page 101)

Were You With the First Hundred Thousand?

NO, we didn't mean the British Expeditionary Force.
We meant that snappy tenth of a million who leaped
to it with their choices in the forthcoming award of
the Photoplay Magazine Medal of Honor — a truly
magnificent tribute for the best American photoplay, executed
in solid gold by Tiffany & Co. of New York, after a design by
a world-famous artist.

Thousands in that First Army of Answerers had made up

their minds, and dropped those minds into envelopes, almost
before the ink on our announcement was dry!

What was the best American photoplay released during
1920?

It's for you to decide.

Your answer must be in the office of the Editor of Photoplay
Magazine, New York City, before October first.

Particulars of this contest can be found on page 45.

Ann Forrest comes from
a country whose women
have developed star-stun
— fortitude, good cheer
and understanding.

A DAUGHTER

OF THE

VIKINGS

By JOAN JORDAN

YOU know, it's rather a difficult thing — this word-paint-
ing of people.
Sometimes those who are the most vivid, the most
emphatic in their impressions, are hardest to delineate.

I don't know anybody in the world of whom I have a more
clean-cut mental impression than Ann Forrest.

And in assorting in my mind all the phrases, all the descrip-
tive words that I know, I find one that somehow wholly brings
her before me — "the good comrade."

As I say it, it brings instantly before me her hearty greeting
when she sees you — maybe a noisy hail across the boulevard,
maybe a swift grin and a wave of the hand on the set, maybe an
impetuous hug, but in any case conveying to you a heart-
warming knowledge that her day is brighter for having seen you.

It brings me a vision of her small, vigorous frame, with its
suggestion of energy and purpose — her live, strong, unusual
little face, generally smiling, or if not smiling gripped by some
emotion — never just "blah," never placid.

I have a picture of her as I saw her one day not long ago on
the Lasky lot — her short gray dress tucked up about her knees,
an enormous gingham apron tied about her, her yellow, heavy
hair flying in all directions, her happy face streaked with dirt.

She was "house-cleaning" her dressing room. And having
the time of her life doing it.

She actually fell down four steps, threw one arm high in an

enthusiastic welcome and yelled, "Hello, everybody. I'm
looking for some soap."

And it didn't make a darn bit of difference to Ann Forrest
that Adolph Zukor happened to be leaning up against the rail-
ing not ten feet away — even if Mr. Zukor is president of the
Famous Players-Lasky Company.

By that I mean that Ann has always been too busy living to
bother with pretense or affectation.

There she is — she hopes you'll like her. But if you don't,
it's just a part of the game, and she isn't going to be any
different.

By that I do not mean that Ann Forrest is a hoyden. Far
from it. Ann has all the adaptability of her type and nation-
ality. I have dined in parties with her in the best homes, the
best cafes — to use the trite expression of papular phraseology.
And she is enough the lady to lie strictly inconspicuous.

But I do mean that she's as natural as a puppy.

She is a bundle of emotions and feelings. You can tell Ann the
most trivial happening and she is as interested as though you
were a veritable Shakespeare. Her eyes fill with tears when
you tell her about the death of the new canary bird, and she
goes into peals of laughter over the simplest remark of any of
your children.

She likes most everybody. And most everybody likes her.

I love to hear her talk. She still has (Continued on page 93)

He s an Irishman — torn in Dublin
ana brought up in Tipperary!

WE do not like to interview directors.
We have interviewed directors before. We have
breakfasted with directors; we have lunched with direc-
tors; and we have dined with directors. Likewise, we
have motored with directors, and played golf, kelly pool and sea-
quoits with directors. We have been flattered by directors and we
have been roundly snubbed by directors.

So we departed feeling very sorry for ourself. You see, we
knew in advance just what Ingram would talk about. Being an
old hand at the drudgery of interviewing, we knew that Ingram
would talk about — Ingram.

He was waiting for us, which was the first shock. We are in
the habit of doing all the waiting. He proved to be a tall, good-
looking young man with a fierce grip in the hand-shaking fetish,
and a boyish smile. He was embarrassed, too, and we were
suspicious at once. This youngster could be no great shakes of a
director. He had none of the regular props.

So we felt rather patronizing.

(We had not seen "The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse."
Now that we have seen it we would give four weeks' salary to do
the interview with Rex Ingram all over again— that is, to salve a
salty conscience.)

But we had not talked the usual commonplaces five minutes
before we were aware of Rex Ingram. Here was no common sand-
lots director. Here was no studio autocrat who was going to tell
us all about himself. As a matter of fact, he wouldn't talk about
himself at all. It was most confusing.

"Directing a big picture is a matter of attention to detail, of

Traditions?

Never

Heard

of 'Em!

Rex Ingram calmly kicks

over all directorial

precedents.

By
JORDAN ROBINSON

Rex Ingram Smashes a Few
Traditions

Rex Ingram waited for the interviewer.
This was an awful shock.

Rex Ingram thanked the interviewer for
being so kind as to come and see him.
This is very unprofessional.

Rex Ingram asks advice from "extras";
how they think the scenes ought to be
be played. This is fantastic.

Rex Ingram "shoots" scenes when it is
well on toward dusk; never in the sun-
light. This shatters all traditions.

Rex Ingram declares all the credit be-
longs to the author. This is director-
ial insanity.

course," said Mr. Ingram. "That's why Griffith is the
greatest director. We have all learned the rudiments
from him."

I wondered if I heard him aright. Here this young
fellow was giving us an interview and talking about other
directors.

"And I'll tell you another great director," he went on.
"It's a man named Robertson. I don't know him. But
I saw 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde' which he did, and I never

Photoplay Magazine

want to miss one of his pictures. He is one of the best di-
rectors in — "

"Wait a minute, please. You know we came over to inter-
view you. We want to know how you did 'The Four Horse-
men'."

"Oli, I did it because Ibanez, the Spanish novelist who
created it, wrote such a wonderful book. When I read the
book I knew it had great picture possibilities. But it was only
after we got right down into the job of making the picture
that I realized it was so great.

"Ibanez creates human beings when he writes. I mean
by that, you see the heart and soul of every one of his people.
He never describes them as being so tall, and weighing so much,
nor having a certain complexion or color of hair and eyes.
He paints the real soul of every character so accurately, so
painstakingly, that you can't miss them when you want to
visualize them. Hundreds of characters appear in the picture,
and each one of them fits in so neatly that, somehow when I
was drafting the list to be sent to the casting director, they
leaped into life to me. It was easy enough to select the
'types' then."

" Hut why does a picture done so easily cost so much money
to make?"

"Ah, I didn't say that it was a picture done easily," smiled
Ingram. "It was a picture that required a tremendous
amount of lime. One couldn't do an Ibanez story without
every minute detail being exact. At that, we were forced to
hurry on the picture before it was half over. But, as I say,
the characters drawn by Ibanez were so startingly human
that once the big cast was assembled, the story unfolded as
naturally as if every step was an actuality — not a picture."

Detail was certainly observed with a vengeance in the filming
of "The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse." In the scenes
reproducing an underworld resort in Buenos Aires every
trifling detail is true, down to the Argentinan spurs worn by
Julio and the ribald legends chalked upon the rough walls
of the place.

Mr. Ingram admitted that he had theories about making
pictures that are not shared by other directors.

He remarked that the other directors are probably right and
that he is wrong since they are in the majority. But still,
he preferred to hold to his own ideas and ideals.

In the first place, he never ''shoots" scenes in sunlight.

"I usually make pictures out-of-doors from four to five-
thirty in the afternoon. The light is then soft, mellow and
even. So we can work with the lens wide open. There are
no high lights. Every crack and crevice does not stand out.
The picture is soft and natural and meets the eye restfully.
It is an effect that I value more than anything else."

You sec, young Mr. Ingram explodes one of the most ancient
and honorable traditions of the art right away.

"And close-ups," he said smilingly, " — I use more of them
than any other director, probably, but no one seems to notice
it. There has been an idea generally that everybody overworks
the close-up. But you'll not think there are so main' close-ups
in 'The Four Horsemen' — but they're there."

In making close-ups, Ingram said that he depended upon his
art training (he did not say artistic sense) he obtained under
a sculptor-teacher at Yale.

"Allowing for the difference in medium," he said, "practically
the same laws apply to the production of a film play which
has artistic merit, and to the making of a fine piece of sculpture
or a masterly painting. The rough preliminary sketch made
in a plastic medium or on paper by the sculptor for his proposed
job has its parallel in the synopsis made before the motion
picture scenario is blocked out.

" Before a scene is taken in a film play, provided ideal
conditions exist in the studio, the scenario is completed, for
without a well-constructed script, nine times out of ten the
efforts of a director will fail to convince. He may have the
human note, humor, pathos, fine characterization, and photog-
raphy, well-composed pictures and good lighting, but unless
he convinces in telling his story, all these things stand on a
foundation that wobbles.

"The sculptored figure or group of figures first takes form
in an armature or firmly constructed frame built according to
the propositions of the job. This frame is composed of steel
braces, wood and lead piping, all wired {Continued on page 95)

Announcing
a l^ew Contest:

WHOSE DOUBLE
ARE YOU?

FOR every famous film star there is — somewhere in
the world — a double.
Make-believe Mary Pickfords, or Norma Tal-
madges, or Theda Baras. Twins of celluloid beauty
and fame. Girls whose resemblances to celluloid celeb-
rities are so startling, that they might get past the studio
gates, don makeup, fool directors and cameramen, and
even draw the stars' salaries!

Are YOU one of them? Or have you a friend who
closely resembles one of the well known players.

Photoplay wants to find these doubles. Every reader
of the magazine wants to see the girls who look like their
favorite stars.

That is why we are offering SI 00 for the best resem-
blance, S50 for the second best, and $25 for the third and
fourth best.

Send in your resemblance picture. The four best photo-
graphs will be published. Don't overlook this oppor-
tunity to see yourself in Photoplay, wher"e every artist
of the screen has been pictured sometime or other. Don't
miss this chance to win $100 — or $50 — or $25.

Address Doubles Contest Editor. 25 West 45th
Street. New York City. Send in your pictures
before October 1. 1921. with your name and address
plainly written on the hack. If you wish the photo-
graph returned, postage must be enclosed.

Harry always
t.-ies to do some-
thing funny
when tne direc-
tor is looking, in
the hopes that
he 11 recognise
him as a coming
comedian.

Clarice telling
the girls what
she would do to
the sta» s part if
they would only
give her a chance
at it.

Harold was ho-
tel clerk tor
twenty feet of
mm and is very
upstage about it.

Bill is going back to the garage. It s
safer than extra in a "brick comedy.

f I essis has been suping for two years and
the director hasn t even noticed her yet.

Bessie is imi-
tating one of
the "400" in
the big ball-
room scene.
She gets her
dope from the
society pic-
tures in the
Sunday papers

Smith son is
sore. The lead
in this picture
is a paper-
hanger. He

was one for
two years and
the director
won t let him
play the part.

" E - X^ T ' R ' A ! " — By Norman Anthony

What Was the Best Photoplay of 1920?

The timeliness of Photoplay Magazine's Medal of Honor —

what it means to American Art — one hundred thousand

have already voted — send in your vote today !

THE first hundred thousand won the glory. But the
hundreds of thousands following won the war. So ran
the story of Allied valor on the fields of France.

One hundred thousand readers of Photoplay Maga-
zine, in a flood of mail which has fairly inundated a whole
corps of clerks, have given their choice for the forthcoming
first annual award of The Pho-
toplay Magazine Medal of
Honor — a magnificent and per-
manent tribute for the best
photoplay of the year.

Although this great com-
pany of whirlwind correspond-
ents wins the palm of prompt-
ness and the laurel of decision,
the tournament of excellence
has only begun.

We are waiting for your
opinion. What do you say?
If you are a patriot, what does
your patriotism mean to you?
Palpitation of the heart when
the flag passes? Loud ap-
plause for the Monroe Doc-
trine? Cheering when the
American Legion has a parade?
Contemptuous sneers for any-
thing that comes from the East
bank of the old Atlantic pond?

Those things are only dem-
onstrations, and demonstra-
tions aren't patriotism. Patri-
otism is helping your own
country to the uttermost in
whatever practical way the
time demands.

When we were threshing
about in our stupendous war
you could help your country
by money, by your personal
service, by joining its fighting forces up on the firing lines.

One of America's very greatest peace-time needs is honest
artistic patriotism.

She wants her own citizens to help her be as great in the
realm of imagination as she has proven herself to be in the
realms of force and actuality. She wants her own citizens to
believe in her capabilities — to acclaim her accomplishments —
to demonstrate that she possesses genius inferior to no genius.

You have heard a great deal about the invasion of the
American film field by the pauper labor of Europe. You have
heard of the injustice done in spending our money for film
plays wrought by brothers and sisters of the men who shot

Suggested List of Best Pictures of 1920

THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE
MEDAL OF HONOR

To be awarded to the best production or 1920, and
annually thereafter to the best picture of the year.

down our American boys on the battlefields of France. You
have heard about the throttling of the American studio. You
have perhaps seen some actual boycotting of foreign films.
You can't choke art or strangle science. Ban a book, and you
raise its price and increase its circulation. Boycott a fi'm merely
because it's foreign, and you denominate yours?lf a coward.

The way to beat the photo-
plays of every invader on earth
is to make every American
movie patron realize the truth
— that our own country does
lead the world on the screen.
Photoplay Magazine's An-
nual Medal of Honor has been
established to testify to and
proclaim this fact — to institute
a serious search for the pro-
ducer worthy of most honors —
to acclaim the best screen work
of Americans.

What, in your opinion, was
the best photoplay of the year
1920?

The only condition is that
the picture was released be-
tween January 1st and De-
cember 31st, 1920, and that it
was of American manufacture.
The Photoplay Magazine
Medal of Honor has been
permanently established as an
award of merit to a producer
whose foresight made him ven-
ture his money, his reputation
and his position in the industry
in the selection of story plus
director plus cast. No critics,
no professional observers can
adequately make this selec-
tion. Only the motion-picture
patrons of America, most representatively assembled, prob-
ably, in the two and a half million readers of Photoplay
Magazine, are competent or qualified. In case of a tie,
decision shall be made by three disinterested people. Fill
out this coupon and mail it, naming the motion picture
which you consider the finest photoplay released during the
year 1920.

These coupons will appear in four successive issues, of which
this is the third. All votes must be received in Photoplay's
New York office not later than October 1st. You do not
necessarily have to choose one of the list of fifty, appearing
on this page, but if your choice is outside this list, be sure it
is a 1920 picture.

Behind the Door

Branding Iron

Copperhead

Cumberland Romance

Dancin' Fool

Devil's Pass Key

Dinty

Dollars and the Woman

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Earthbound

Eyes of Youth

Garage

Gay Old Dog

Great Redeemer

Heart of the HiUs

Huckleberry Finn

Humoresque

Idol Dancer

In Search of a Sinner

Something to Think About

Jes' Call Me Jim

Jubilo

Love Flower

Luck of the Irish

Madame X.

Man Who Lost Himself

Mollycoddle

On With the Dance

Overland Red

Over the Hill

Pollyanna

Prince Chap

Remodelling a Husband

Right of Way

River's End

Romance

Scoffer

Scratch My Back

Trumpet Island

Suds

Thirteenth Commandment

Thirty-nine East

Toll Gate

Treasure Island

Virgin of Stamboul

Way Down East

Why Change Your Wife?

Wonder Man

World and His Wife

Photoplay Medal of Honor Ballot

Editor Photoplay Magazine, 25 W. 45th St., N. Y. City

In my opinion the picture named below is the best motion
picture production released in 1920.

NAME OF PICTURE

Name .

Address .

Use this coupon or other blank paper filled out in similar form.

A BAD ACTOR FROM BILDAD

Proving that there's a lot of good in
the worst of bad men — and sheriffs.

By
J. FRANK DAVIS

Illustrated by T. D. Skidmore

FAR ahead, as Hood came down through the pass and
turned his horse toward the south where the ill-defined
trail would lead to the railroad at the Big Springs tank,
the summits of the western hills were glowing with the
fair pinkness of a cloudless dawn. He adjusted the package
nestling against the saddle where it had slipped a little when
the pony had come sliding and skithering down the roof-like,
pebble-strewn pitch of Devil's Slide, which, most men of the
section said, could not be negotiated at night, and drew a long
breath of relief.

Eighteen miles ahead was the tank at Big Springs, where two
westbound passenger trains a day stopped for water, and the
first one would be there at eleven. He would make it, now,
without trouble. The little horse had been taking it easy all
night; there was no fear the animal would not hold out to the
railroad. After that, Yuma or Los Angeles. He chuckled.

He had practically decided on Los
Angeles. They would not look for him •

anywhere to the westward, in all prob-
ability. One leaving Bildad hastily,
at night, as he had left, would be ex-
pected to strike east, where there were
well-settled communities, fair roads,
frequent trains. Nobody would look for
him to cross the hills to a railroad more
than forty miles away, and especially
no one would credit him with being
such a fool as to attempt to come down
'Devil's Slide in the darkness, which was
why he had done it. Hood grinned
faintly and briefly. Already he was out
of danger; he knew it as well as though
he were aboard the train, flying west.
He patted the little bundle at his knee.
Nine thousand five hundred dollars.
And no officer of the law at Big Springs,
even if there was the slightest chance
they would think to telegraph there. ~ ~"^— ^~ ^~ ~~

Off to the north, twelve miles, the
sheriff at McKinley might be watching; they probably would
have telephoned there on general principles, even though they
wouldn't expect him to have headed west; the way across the
hills from Bildad to McKinley was no defier of dare-devils like
Devil's Slide. But the sheriff would be watching toward the
east, and perfunctorily.

"LiT red hawse, we done fooled 'em," Hood told the pony,
amiably. "Back there at that Bildad place, they never even
heard I knew how to ride. When they found I didn't get
aboard that night train right there, or anywheres down the
line, they figured I made a getaway in the flivver. Place we
hid that tin peace chariot, they prob'ly won't find it tor a
week. Even if they do, they don't know anything about you
being tied out right handy there."

The animal flicked its ears.

"Yes, suh," Hood declared. "I don't guess they know it's
me they're looking for, either, although I ain't sure about that.
That guard had a funny look in his eye. It might 'a' meant he
knowed me — or thought he did. The handkerchief didn't show
my face none, and the big, out-size hat shore covered my hair,
and there wa'n't nothing about my clothes he could identify,
but he might 'a' knowed my voice." The rider laughed shortly,
comfortably. "Or that look in his eye might 'a' meant he was

No. 16

In Photoplay Magazine's series
of 24 original short stories from
which are to he picked the win-
ners of

$14,000
in cash prizes.

Are you reading them all1
will be interesting to learn
your opinion will be that
the judges.

loaded. He'll be wondering for a year who unloaded it for
him and never get around to suspecting it was me, myself,
while he was eating supper. We planned that hold-up pretty
rotten, didn't we, liT red hawse? The payroll for three big oil
companies, and not much risk taking it."

Daylight, after a little, crept over the hills to their left as
the horse ambled unhurriedly down the valley, and searched
out the face of the rider. The peeping sun, if any word had
come to him while he was absent on the under side of the earth
of the robbery the previous night at the boom oil city of Bildad,
might have experienced surprise that the instigator and sole
actor in it did not more worthily look the part. A desperado
he surely was; just as certainly a desperado he did not look.

He was young, not more than twenty-seven or eight, straight-
shouldered and regular featured, with a heavy thatch of dark
red hair and eyes that twinkled humorously on small provo-
cation. It would take a brighter,
-___—____-_- more concentrated light than that first

one of early morning to show up the
little lines of dissipation already limned
on the face, and some emergency of peril
to shift the optic twinkle to such cold
hardness as had looked out above the
blue bandanna mask of the evening
before, augmenting the threat of the
steadily held pistol that covered the
payroll guard. A reckless youth rather
than an intrinsically bad one. Yet bad
enough. Bar the time taken up by his
little share in the Expeditionary Force
exercises in France, he had been drifting
for eight years, and the drift had never
been upward.

Not many men in Texas now file
notches on the barrels of their pistols,
but he was entitled to two. The cir-
cumstance that lenient juries, in both
^— — — — — -~~-~-- instances, had agreed the incidents were

covered by certain loose but accepted
rules touching upon self-defense, had given him freedom but
no acquittal from the reputation of being a killer. Some
rumor of this, he suspected, had reached Bildad. Men had
been looking at him oddly, of late.

They came to a waterhole, where the little red horse drank
satisfyingly. It was while they were standing there, with only
the snufflings and swallowings of the beast to break the vast
morning stillness, that a faint, wavering cry came floating upon
a vagrant breeze. The horse heard it first, and pricked his
ears; immediately afterward it came to the less sensitive
hearing of the man.
"Hi-i-i-i!"

A high-pitched, childish voice, coming, seemingly, from up a
draw that they had passed while Hearing the waterhole.

Hood's right hand slipped automatically to the region of the
pistol swinging at his thigh, and every muscle of him tensed
into guardedness. For thirty seconds he stood, statuesque;
the horse, beside him, his head lifted from the water and turned
toward the sound, his ears pointed. The cry came again,
shrill, immature, broken:
"Hi-i-i-i! Oh, mister!"

"There's somebody in trouble up that draw," the man told
the little red horse. "Can't be but one of him, I don't guess.

It
if
of

plumb scandalized when he found that gun of his wasn't Anyway, we got to go take a look.

"Gee, I'm right glad you come, mister!"

Photoplay Magazine

He moved slowly and cautiously to take it, his pistol
clutched. A hundred yards from the main trail a boy sat on
the ground — a boy of nine or ten. Hood's hand fell away from
his weapon.

"Gee, I'm right glad you come, mister!" Plainly the child
would like to have it appear that he was able to undergo
untoward events casually; there was apparent a stout attempt
to act as though it was nothing out of the ordinary in his young
life to be calling for help an hour after sun-up a dozen miles
from anywhere. "I was afraid I couldn't holler loud enough.
I kinda had dropped off to sleep, and all of a sudden I heard
you go past, down there. Stopped for water, didn't you?"

Hood nodded.

" Reckoned you
would," the boy said.
"If you hadn't, I'd
shore been up against
it good." He moved
a little, winced, and
forced a pale smile.

" Got a twisted
ankle," he said.
"Can't seem to get
upon it a-tall. Ha\\>e
done throwed me."

Immediately he felt
a necessity for defense
which Hood, himself
a Texan, understood
and appreciated.

"I mostly can stay
on a hawse, but this
one is plumb scared
of snakes, I reckon,
and nobody hadn't
told me. He's a new
hawse my father
bought out Arylulu
way. We're moseying
along here quiet,
heading for that
water where you just
been, and there's a
big rattler starts sing-
ing right ahead of
him. I stayed on six
or seven pitches,
mister; honest, I did!
When me and him
parted, my foot
caught. Sprained my
ankle, it acts like."

He sighed with a
little sob in his throat, striving to be as philosophical as the
grown men he knew would have been: "S'pose I ought to be
glad it didn't stay caught. Say, mister, you couldn't give me
a drink of water before you do anything else, could you?"

Hood unscrewed the top of his freshly filled canteen. The
boy gulped eloquently.

"When did all this happen?" the man asked. Already he
was resisting temptation to look over his shoulder down the
draw. Somebody, seeking the child, might be coming any
moment.

"Yesterday evenin', about three or four," the boy said.
"Gee, mister, but it's been a long night."

There were sandwiches in Hood's pockets, enough for two
or three scant meals. He passed two of them to the youngster.
"Bite into those," he said, "and then I'll have a look-see at
that foot. Where do you live?"

"McKinley," the boy told him, his mouth full. "My
father is Sam Wingate. I'm Bill Wingate."

Hood felt himself stiffening at sound of the name almost as
he would have stiffened at sight of its owner. Sam Wingate,
famous across many counties, was sheriff at McKinley.

"Your father, as soon as that hawse that pitched you got
home, must have started out to find you," he opined. "At
least as soon as it was light "

"Shucks!" cried the boy. "How do you figure anybody's
going to read any sign off the rocks up here in Flint Canon?
And they don't know which direction I went in; it's years
since my father has made me tell him when I was going to ride
and where I was heading for. Besides, that hawse never

Ah, Happy No'Sho and Yung Fin

T"> T^T") T~~* - — ... - ... ■« r l— i.

BEBE

| tung rin

DANIELS

^rSsS^lA. Seemed un-

is always

~"^^T~^\ happy, and

thinking /

/ jf ^^

.-^^-<lzL-A distraught,

About other /

^-~r~=% \ Aye, embar-

folks' com- U

^^fcy® 1/

iw) j. A rassed in

fort. r

^•Sgfi^L / the crystal

She is a con- \

'-_^^ML

g|w5l^HI / aquarium

s i d e r a t e

- JU^^ 1 n xv h i c h

baby,

dP^^ they lived.

We'll say.

Lm So Bebe or-

For

instance,

RT deredanew

' ' aquarium

Think of No-Sho

With the glass

and Yung Fin.

frosted, and therefore

These are her

two pet

Xot transparent.

Chinese goldfish

See1

They are intellig

ent little

"The poor fish," murmured

creatures

Bebe —

And terribly sensitive and •

(She was referring to the

shy.

goldfish and

So what do you

suppose

Not to some director or

Bebe Daniels has

gone and

author or something) —

done1

"The poor fish,

Just this:

They ought to have

She noticed that No-sho and

Some privacy! "

showed up there a-tall. He turned up when he went hellity-
larrup out of this draw, not down. That hawse is home by
now — but home where he used to live."
"But your father will be searching."

"You bet you my life he will. And a right smart of other
folks, too, if he asked 'em to," he added with obvious pride.
"There ain't much the folks at McKinley won't do for my
father."

"I've heard of him," Hood remarked, as he examined the
swollen ankle with as much tenderness as the necessities of the
case would allow.

"Ow! Go ahead, mister. Don't mind if it hurts a little;

I don't. Of course
you have. Pretty
much everybody in
this part of the coun-
try knows my father.
You don't live in
?\IcKinley, do you?
But you must have
come through there.
Didn't you hear any-
thing about anybody
being out looking for
me?"

" I didn't come
through McKinley,"
Hood replied shortly.
"Ow! She's swelled
some bad, ain't she?
I s'pose I didn't do it
any special good, try-
ing to walk on it. I
must 'a tried to walk
a dozen times." Hood
soaked a handker-
chief from the can-
teen and swathed the
ankle. "How come
you wasn't in
McKinley. You was
going south just now,
wasn't you? There
ain't any town north
but McKinley. You
couldn't have come
over Devil's Slide. It
ain't rideable in the
night."

"I come by

McKinley without

stopping. Feel any

better?"

" Shore. It feels fine, now. How are we going to get home?"

Hood had already decided how he would meet this. He

said, soothingly:

" It's a darn shame, son, that I can't turn round and get you
home, but I just natchully can't. I've got business down
south o' here that has to be done; it won't wait, nohow." He
saw the hurt look of disappointment in the lad's eyes and the
quivering of the mouth that the little fellow couldn't quite
repress, and added, hastily: "I'm going to leave you my
canteen, all filled, and these other sandwiches, and you'll be
all fine and dandy until your father or some of his friends get
here; it won't be much of any time, now, before they come
along; they're bound to look this way first, practically."

"Yes, sir," replied Bill, trying for philosophy. "I expect it
couldn't be later'n noon that they got here, anyway. Do you
think it could?"

"Xot as long as that," the man assured him. "And we'll
fix you up so you'll see them as soon as they come — and they'll
see you, too."

Shrewdly surveying the surroundings, he picked a spot down
at the mouth of the draw where a southerly rock embankment
would furnish shade through the whole day and where no one
seeking the waterhole could fail to pass within easy sight and
sound, and carried the boy to it. He went, then, and refilled
the canteen, gave it to the boy, with all the food he had left.
"All right now?" he asked cheerfully.

"Yes, sir," said Bill. "I'm all right. And thanky' kindly.
You didn't tell me what your name was, mister. My father,
he'll want to know." (Continued on page 88)

CLOSE-UPS

&diiorial Sxpression and Timely Comment

IN some circles of the motion picture business they're
trying to bar foreign films. Those German pic-
tures, they protest, are crude, vulgar, and full of
historical inaccuracies. They've got nothing on "The
Queen of Sheba," Mr. Fox's recent contribution to edu-
cation. She had next to nothing on herself, and we pre-
fer crude historical pictures to crude anatomical ones.
We could almost hear the director say in every second
scene, "Miss Blythe, are you afraid of catching cold?
Please register more flesh."

SAMUEL GOLDWYN, in England recently, fer-
vently endeavored to convert George Bernard
Shaw to the cinema. Mr. Shaw suddenly interrupted:
"It seems hardly necessary for us to continue, Mr.
Goldwyn. You see, you are interested only in art, while
I am interested only in money."

A BOY in Dubuque recently committed enough
boyish offences to put him into the hands of the
law. But neither the boy nor his mother, the police
nor the newspapers, blamed the movies for his mis-
behaviour. What on earth is wrong?

INCIDENTALLY, it is always interesting to remem-
ber that there were no jails, no reformatories, no bad
little boys, no naughty little girls, no wicked men and
women — nothing ever wrong, in any way, with this just
too perfectly sweet old world before the celluloid ser-
pent came writhing in!

THE trouble with youngsters nowadays is that most
of them know twice as much as they ought to know,
and not half as much as they should.

THERE'S no magic about the methods of Ernest
Lubitsch, the Polish director of "Passion," "Decep-
tion," and "Gypsy Blood." Lubitsch is said to employ
competent departmental chiefs in lighting, photography
and art direction, and to place entire responsibility
upon each in his particular specialty. Then, the direc-
tor has each player familiarize himself with the entire
story, and, calling the company together, listens non-
committally to all suggestions. Then he conducts many
and long rehearsals. Finally, he shoots his picture.

THE Cleveland School of Education, William M.
Gregory, curator, has added to its curriculum a six-
week's course in "visual education," carrying a regular
university credit. Here school supervisors, teachers
and assistant instructors are to be taught the mechanics
and educational use of the motion picture, and of lan-
tern slides where a projection machine for films is not
available. The world moves. Sometimes it seems that
our American world moves fastest in its middle. Cer-
tainly the Cleveland educators are able to show the
schoolmen both east and west a sterling example of
down-to-the-minute thinking and quick action.

MARY THURMAN tells the story of a little Holly-
wood girl, lost in a Los Angeles department store.
"Why didn't you hold on to mamma's hand?" queried
the matron, soothingly. "S-s-she had her arms full o'

bundles!" was the faltering answer. "Then why didn't
you take hold of her skirt?" And the baby wailed:
"I c-c-couldn't reach it!"

THE manager of the Theatre Montaigne, in Paris,
recently intrigued the critics by installing a restau-
rant and sleeping apartments for their accommodation
after the arduous labor of reviewing new plays. A
rival has begun giving elaborate early morning cabarets
for the pen fraternity. In New York they might lure
the hatchet men by showing them, after some of our
very unreal plays, a few of our very real photoplays.

JUDGING by recent German logic, President Ebert is
being advised by the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.

ONE of the new picture actresses is Julia Hoyt. But
Julia is Mrs. Lydig Hoyt, in reality; leader of New
York society's younger set, and, socially, the "smart-
est" of American recruits to the screen. Her entry,
just as an actress, into the Norma Talmadge studio,
made a Metropolitan sensation. She seems to be sin-
cere. She says she has tired of a butterfly's life, and
wants to do something really worth while in the world.
All this is quite laudable, and we hope that Mrs. Hoyt
will have the success she so earnestly desires, and for
which she says that she is willing to pay the price of
drudgery and unremitting physical and mental toil.
But Mrs. Hoyt should realize fully that that is the only
way she will ever achieve any success worth while. In
the thousand and one Hickvilles where pictures are

sold on their merits she will be Julia Hoyt,

and nothing more. And if Julia Hoyt proves herself
a genuine actress, she can take her place alongside some
others who never even saw a member of the 400. What
has happened, by the way, to the much-heralded film
ambitions of Lady Diana Manners and Mrs. Morgan
Belmont?

LATE last winter a Massachusetts war-profiteer of
the ultra-snobbish sort visited Coronado, in South-
ern California; and, swinging into an informal polo
game of a morning, reined his horse up beside that of an
expert but silent young player whose high-bred game
he had been jealously admiring for a full half-hour.
"Delightful to be down here among gentlemen!" he
exclaimed, mopping a very plebeian brow with a very
aristocratic kerchief. "Around Los Angeles one cawn't
motor or play tennis or even dine without mingling
with those annoying film persons! I'm Charles Ed-
ward Barne-Jones, of Dorset-on-Sea. " "Charmed!"
replied the gentleman addressed. "I'm Charles Spen-
cer Chaplin, of Hollywood-on-Location!" And he dug
in his spurs.

OTHER continents, other customs. In Japan the
censors take out the kissing and leave in the cuss-
ing. While here . . .

THE snappiest sub-caption we've heard latefy is the
one dictated but not read by Dr. Jack Dempsey,
who has been training at the Film Market studio in
Atlantic City. When asked if he had any particular

choice concerning the referee for the forthcoming en-
gagement between himself and Prof. Carpentier, Dr.
Dempsey replied: "It don't make no diff to me . . .
if he knows how to count."

SINCE Gettysburg is in Pennsylvania the famous
speech should have concluded: "that government of
the censors, by the censors, for the censors shall not
perish from the earth."

IN Brooklyn, recently, a test on the Ten Command-
ments was given to one thousand school children.
Of the thousand, three hundred and fifty-seven had
never even heard of the Ten Commandments! Sons
and daughters, no doubt, of the model parents who
may some day say that Sallie and Johnnie went bad
because they loved motion pictures.

STARVED little souls! Blindly searching, on the
street or in the theater or under a dock for the
knowledge and information that should emanate from
homes which, instead, are barren and tawdry and
slatternly and quarrelsome.

IF another war comes we hope the government will
realize that the movies can spare fifty heroes better
than one Ben Turpin.

WE'D like to see a statue of Governor McKelvie, of
Nebraska, erected on the State House grounds at
Albany, N. Y. The Eastern experts in everybody else's
business crowded a censorship bill through the New
York legislature, and Governor Miller signed it. The
same sort of tactics put the same sort of bill through the
Nebraska legislature — and Governor McKelvie vetoed
it! In explanation of his veto in the face of tremendous
pressure by the Puritan machine the Governor issued a
long statement, in the course of which he said: "I am
thoroughly convinced that public opinion, when it is
left free and untrammeled, will control the entire sit-
uation. . . . Let us then place the responsibility with
the people themselves, where it belongs, realizing that if
we as a nation are to be a strong, virile, self-governing
people we must assume the full responsibilities of citi-
zenship without expecting the state to relieve us from
the ills that are self-imposed, and that are within our
range to control, without the aid or direction of statu-
tory law."

THE New York Evening Post sees in the campaign
against German films "a crusade to protect innocent
admirers of the California vamps and bathing beauties
against the immoralities of history."

IMPROVIDENT as actors are, it isn't the lack of
1 something laid by for a rainy day which concerns
most of them now — it's the lack of something laid by
for a dry day.

HARD times are with us, they say. Yet the manager
of New York's largest bill-posting company has in-
formed would-be purchasers of space that he cannot
find room on his miles of boards for another sheet of
motion picture paper before November first.

THERE'D be some sense to censorship in Bolshevik
Moscow just now. Of course they'd eliminate all
rich fathers, club-fellows, the young hero's country
home, his father's big business office, valets, dinner-
jackets and ball-room scenes.

THE screen doesn't need moral censorship one-tenth
as much as it needs intellectual censorship.

AMERICA'S most distinguished theatrical visitor
this year, or for many years, was not an actor,

nor even a dramatist; he was William Archer, the most
distinguished English-writing critic of the stage, and,
in the minds of many, the foremost theatrical critic,
adaptor and essayist of this generation. Archer has
been a vital force in theatrical writings for fifty years,
and his most noteworthy additions to actual dramatic
property were the plays of the Norwegian Ibsen. The
Archer translations are still the standards. In addi-
tion, he has quite curiously made his own authorial
debut — and a very successful one — at the age of 65,
with "The Green Goddess," a thrilling and elegant
melodrama now being played by George Arliss in New-
York. Mr. Archer finds that the screen, despite its
enormous vogue, is curiously without any intellectual
influence in America. This is quite true. The greatest
amusement in the world, and in its representations of
fact one of the rising educators and informers, the
screen has yet to mold or sway public opinion in its
fictional forms. But Mr. Archer feels that America
has not yet scratched the surface of her dramatic
possibilities; he says that in our stupendously varied
life we can — and will, doubtless — create the most
picturesque school of drama that the world has ever
seen. Mr. Archer is of the theater; what he does not
see is that the leader of that school, in the years to
come, will be the drama of silence, because the screen
alone proffers infinitely varied material for the depic-
tion of the infinitely varied American life.

A YOUNG star was entertaining friends at dinner.
There was a butler, and caviar, and orchids at
every place, and everything. The dinner went smooth-
ly; the star was radiant; her guests impressed. Came
coffee in fragile cups, and highbrow conversation.
Then the star's maid entered and in an audible stage-
whisper inquired: "Beg pardon, ma'am, but the
butler says can you pay him now, ma'am?"

SOME dumbbell student association in Harvard re-
cently placed Charlie Chaplin in solemn nomination
for the unversity presidency. An honor in its way, no
doubt, but Mr. Chaplin is quite, quite too busy

WHEN David Wark Griffith made "Intolerance,"
four or five years ago, he gave the multitude a
new phase of history. Familiar for many generations
was the Biblical account of the fall of Babylon: the
writing on the wall, followed by the capture and sack
of the city by the hosts under the Persian Cyrus.
What the general public did not know were the facts
as pictured by Griffith in all the fascination of a great
adventure story: the feud between Nabonidus the
regent, and Belshazzar the young King, on the one
hand, and the intolerant priests of Bel on the other;
resulting in the betrayal of Babylon's gates by the
priesthood to Cyrus, who in a mood of great spiritual
practicality had caused the worship of Bel-Marduk in
his camp. Now Mr. Griffith did not decipher these
facts from any clay tablets in Assyria, but he did get
them from obscure texts known only to the professors
and the intenser students of Assyriology. Mr. Griffith
published the first popular history of the end of Baby-
lon. He has just been substantiated, in every particu-
lar, by H. G. Wells, whose popular "Outline of History "
is at great pains to narrate, with identical detail, what
Mr. Griffith so graphically painted in suntint. Mr.
Wells agrees with Mr. Griffith in all his character con-
ceptions, and there is an almost startling facsimile of
the Hollywood picture of the ancient Nabonidus, who
abandoned the throne and his warlike pursuits for the
secluded researches of an antiquarian. Here, at least,
the photoplay served as history's unerring advance
announcement.

WHEN an assistant director wears puttees, who does
he think he's fooling?

Youth (Richard Barthelmess) hears Ambi-
tion s call ana leaves his mother (Kate Bruce)
and Love (Marjorie Daw) to seek his fortune.

Experience — played by John

Miltern — who is to teach Youth

many things about life.

Youth first encounters Pleasure, Beauty,
Wealth. He asks Opportunity to wait
him. But Opportunity cannot!

and
for

"The story of Youth — a

story as old as yesterday's

ten thousand years — as

new as tomorrow!"

EXPERIENCE

^ old from the
Paramount Photoplay-

Youth is enthralled by Pleasure

and, while Experience looks on, is

welcomed into the gay party.

Youth s funds run low and Chance directs him to

a gambling house where he can double his money.

At nrst he wins, but later luck leaves him.

Temptation (Nita Naldi) fascinates
Youth. She intercepts a letter tell-
ing Youth of his mother's death.

f*i

Experience meanwhile teaches

Youth to know Excitement.

(Sybil Carmen.)

And smirking Conceit (Robert
Sellable) with his ever-present

mirror.

And Intoxication (an all-too-
pleasant companion) — played
by Helen Ray.

And — eventually — the sancti-
monious Prohibition, played by
Leslie King.

Finally, accused of theft, he is
ejected to the gutter.

Crime seeks to persuade Youth
to rob Wealth's house.

But Youth returns home, where With Love at his side. Youth
Love and Hope await. enriched by Experience.

This is the startling, life-size
hall ornament that faces the vis-
itor as he hangs up his hat. It is
a bronze cast of the One Armed
Charioteer, an ancient Roman
work.

a ■ 1 PWa

Ml ft

hill *»i

Mi]

jWtlrl iBEl: ?

111

This old Venetian couch
is the central object in the
drawing room. It is covered
with Italian silk in reds and
blues, as are the cushions on
and before the couch. A vic-
trola is hidden in the throne
chair on the right.

Miss Murray at the piano in
her drawing room. The carved
gold chest on the piano is a relic
from a Venetian palace. Above
the piano is a rare Madonna, an
ancient masterpiece restored.

Opening from the draw-
ing room on the right is the
replica of a small garden.
It resembles an Italian gar-
den in the grill balustrade
and the grilled window. At
either side of the marble
steps that lead to this gar-
den room is a magnificent
bronze lamp.

Photography
by International.

MAISON
MURRAY

A star's haven
amidst antiques from Italy.

THE heading is euphonious, but phoney. For
Mae is not Miss Murray. She is Mrs. Robert
Leonard. The little blonde dancing star, and
her directing husband, live in this quaint Italian home
in Manhattan, in a sumptuous studio building called
"The Hotel des Artistes." As far as Mae is concerned,
the appellation is entirely correct. She designed all
her own sets — by that we mean that every room in
her house is decorated according to her own taste,
and finished under her supervision.

When she was abroad she rifled the antique shops,
and while she is in New York, she is a faithful patron
of interesting auctions. For years she has been collect-
ing the rare pieces that fill her home. Her taste
inclines to the antiques from old Italy; it has always
been her dream to live in an atmosphere inspired by
the marvellous art of the Florentines. It is a tribute
to Miss Murray that her apartment does not resemble
a curio shop; it is a home, a little bit of artistic Italy
in Manhattan!

Miss Murray stands at
the heavy grill gates of her
dining room. She has
changed since she was a
chorus girl and impersonated
a Nell Brinkley drawing. Her
face has become liner and
more characterful.

A corner of the drawing room,
showing in detail the historic win-
dow of stained glass. The middle
picture painted on the window rep-
resents the Santa Maria, the ship
on which Columbus sailed to his
discovery of America.

The most al fresco din-
ing room in New York that
is not actually out of doors.
It is lit by day through large
windows like garden wicket
gates. Vines climb up on
the lattice and about the
windows. There are gar-
den settees beside the win-
dows. The walls are sky
colored. The floor is of
small cobblestones. The
fruit bowl on the table is of
old Italian style. The tele-
phone is hidden inside the
cupboard.

'Photography by
International.

What Is a Director?

PHOTOPLAY feels that it is fulfilling a long -felt want in
raising, on this page, a question that has long puzzled film
audiences, producers, actors, extras, and assistant directors.

STARS, SCENARIO WRITERS,

CAMERAMEN — AND DIRECTORS

William deMille

I HE director is a tear-
ful creature with a
megaphone growing
out of his face.
His function is to take
charming stories and delib-
erately ruin them. He has
no manners and his morals
are awful. He knows noth-
ing about life and spends
his time thinking up scenes
which will debase the youth
of the country and turn a
perfectly respectable audi-
ence into a gang of crim-
inals. He counts that day
lost in which he has not
produced a scene which shows the lure of vice and the futility of
virtue. He is a national menace.

If the director could be eliminated there would be nothing in
motion pictures to find fault with.

Let us pass a law that in the future directors be allowed to
produce only the Elsie books, the Rollo books and Sanford and
Merton.

Betty Blythe

A director is the only man besides your husband who can tell
you how many of your clothes to take off. I know.

James Kirkwood

the famous actor, seen in "The Money Master" and "The
Great Impersonation":

The director is a fellow who runs around the set with a mega-
phone annoying the actors. With the help of really efficient
actors, electricians, assistants, location men, art directors, cut-
ters and cameramen, he sometimes manages not to spoil the
work of his players.

Some directors help you, but most of them are an unmiti-
gated nuisance.

James Kirkwood

well-known director of Mary Pickford and other stars:

The director is the most important factor in the making of a
motion picture. His duties are so manifold. He is the man
responsible for every angle of the picture. He is like the head
of a big business cor-
poration. The mana-
gers of the various de-
partments are all under
his charge. He must
know lighting, interior
decoration, acting,
stories, and humanity.
The director — the
one branch of the art
that motion pictures
have not adapted but
actually created — is
the captain of the ship
of every motion picture
production. And if
there's a wreck, he

usually goes down with it.
thinks much about it.

Al. Christie

And if the voyage is safe, nobody

A motion picture director is just a human being.

The more horse-sense he has and uses, the better he'll get
along and the more human will be his pictures.

Our motto has always been: "Show real human beings in
perfectly natural human situations."

To do that one only needs to use a very plain and garden
variety of horse-intelligence.

And horse-intelligence isn't low-brow. It is the highest form
of education in the world.

May Allison

A director is
like a husband —
that is, some
husbands.

You'd like to
get rid of them,
but you don't
know what you'd
do without him.

He's the one
that tells you
when you look
your worst. He's
the one that
won't let you
have even an
hour off on a
summer day to
go swimming.

There isn't anybody in the world that you feel is so much like
a relation as a director.

Seriously, a director has the destiny of a star very much in
his own hands. He can make or break her. I really believe
that the largest part of the motion picture industry, its future,
its possibilities and its achievements, rest upon the director.

He is the one man who really has authority. The rest of us
only have ideas.

Betty Compson

To me a real director is a man who has an artist's soul, who

lives the part of each
and every person in the
cast, who has sympathy
and understanding for
the player and is will-
ing to listen to his
principal's advice on
the picture.

A director must be
like the keyboard of a
wireless. And like the
keyboard, distribute
the message without
any visible signs of
motion.

(Continued on page 109)

By
BURNS MANTLE

HAVING failed to answer the other queries in the
questionnaire, what, "said I to Jane, "would have
been your reply if the old boy had asked you : 'Why
is a bad movie?'"

"Because it's a stupid entertainment," snapped Jane.
"And a good movie's a joy because it is good entertainment
and costs no more than a couple of ice creams. Let's go. "

Jane, I should say, would make a good censor. Her criti-
cisms might not be profoundly analytical, but the}' would be
short and snappy.

"How long have they been at this business of reforming the
stage?" she demanded the other day, when Dr. Straton made
the first page of the morning paper with a new attack upon the
immorality of the theater and theater folk.

"Oh, a matter of three or four hundred years," I answered.
"And, naturally, they have made some progress."

"They have," agreed Jane; " I saw 'Ladies' Night' last week.
It was celebrating its 300th performance on Broadway, and
several of the girls in the bath scene were wearing new Turkish
towels. It's a cleaner show than it was. "

"Oh, well — it's all in your imagination, anyway. "

"It is," said Jane; "that's why I had to stop reading the
newspapers. I wonder, will they go after the magazines and
the novels and the naughty postcard people after they get the
movies fixed up?"

"All producers of entertainment should be idealists — in
theory, at least," I ventured.

"They should be," agreed Jane. " In fact a lot of them have
been. Too bad they starved to death. "

"Well, anyway — you'll be glad of one thing," I said. "The
producers are certainly doing their part in trying to interest
the most eminent of authors in writing for the screen. Did you
hear that Maeterlinck, and Barrie, and Gertrude Atherton — "

"I don't care who writes them," she interrupted. "I don't
care who writes them or who produces them, so long as they
entertain me. M. Maeterlinck can write enough legends to
fill a library, and if they won't screen, or if they are not inter-
esting when they are screened, I shall walk out on them. I am
the Peepul. Give me good stories or give me nothing. Give
me good entertainment or let me stay at home. "

" But only by interesting eminent authors can we hope — "
"Only by interesting authors with screen sense and plastic
minds can we hope for anything; straight-thinking, clean-
thinking, men and women. All the eminent authors in the
world can move to Hollywood and live the rest of their lives
within earshot of the director's megaphone; they can each
average a new picture story a month, and Griffith's ice floe and
'Way Down East,' and Fox's chariot race and 'The Queen of
Sheba,' (not to mention the complete exposure of Betty
Blythe's impressive nonchalance); Metro's 'Four Horsemen,'
Cosmopolitan's 'Humoresque' and Tucker's 'Miracle Man*
will outdraw them ten to one — unless they achieve plays that
are fundamentally human and holding, dramatic and inter-
esting."

" But you do admit there is a chance for improvement?"
" I do — if they will let the educators do the educating and
keep the entertainers entertaining. I am the Peepul. What's
the best picture in town?"

THE WOMAN GOD CHANGED—

Cosmopolitan-Paramount

HERE is a picture in which the fine skill of Robert Vignola
and his cast has taken what might have been another
of those tales of a bad woman cast upon a desert island and
regenerated through the influences of the simple life and the
inspiring presence of a noble gent and made of it a really gripping,

Photoplay Magazine

In "Reputation" Pnscilla Dean is an actress of marked

ability, in spite of her long stay in "crook dramas. She

gives an unusual portrayal to a difficult dual role.

In many ways the French film "J accuse is extraordinary

but in its present fourteen reels it is of wearisome length

depicting devastation and death.

"Get Your Man" is one of the best western pictures we

have seen in months. Buck Jones plays the role of a

Northwest Mounted policeman.

always interesting drama. It really is the story of a woman's
trial for murder, begun at the assembling of the court, told
through the visualization of the testimony of the principal
characters and concluded with the rendering of the court's
verdict. The story was told in the June issue of Photoplay.
There is sound psychology, both in the story and in the titles,
many of them written by no less an authority than Dr. Frank
Crane.

And while the text uses up a lot of footage, and is occasionally
too elaborately explanatory, it adds more to the interest than
it takes from it. Pictorially, Vignola reveals many fine scenes,
the Tahiti incidents being beautifully pictured and the court
scenes excellent in their detail. The argument of the counsel
for the defense, that a criminal should be sentenced on her life
after, as well as before, the crime, also gives the audience
something to think about, and not many pictures do that.
Seena Owen is the heroine and E. K. Lincoln gives an excellent
performance as the detective. It ought to put Miss Owen in
the star class right away.

THROUGH THE BACK DOOR— United Artists

A NUMBER of interested folks had a lot to do with this
newest of the Pickford pictures, evidently. As a result,
the story is a little choppy and the effort to inject a new ele-
ment of suspense every hundred feet or two interferes with the
continuity of interest. Yet no one of the episodes is without
some claim of merit, and the fact that the early reels take the
popular Mary back to the days when she was a lovable cutup
with a wide smile and a curly head, a gift of pathos and an
adorable sense of comedy helps a lot. She skates over a soap-
smeared floor on scrubbing brushes, and she has an amusing
experience with a cake-walking donkey to add to the fun of the
picture without disturbing seriously its logic. The plot itself
takes Mary from Belgium, where she is an abandoned orphan,
to America, where she becomes a maid in the home of her own
mother and is likely to be put out when she discovers a way of
thwarting a villain and re-establishing herself in the affections
of her neglectful parent. The star was helped considerably by
Marion Fairfax, who made the adaptation.

TWO WEEKS WITH PAY— Realart

AGAIN they have, with reasonable plausibility, given Bebe
Daniels a chance to wear pretty frocks and fraternize
with the rich and exclusive without sacrificing her hold upon
the flappers who adore her and like to picture her as struggling
against a shop girl's poverty. "Two Weeks with Pay" is a
nice little story sufficiently novel to give it an individual flavor
and it contains enough pretty shots of Bebe to justify it.
Maurice Campbell, who directed it, includes both sanity and
good taste in his equipment, together with a nice sense of
comedy, and they are invaluable assets in the treatment of so
light a story. Miss Daniels plays two roles, those of a manikin
sent to a summer resort to display her employer's gowns, and a
moving picture actress whom she agrees to impersonate at a
benefit. She differentiates the roles with a reasonably sure
technique and is equally effective in both.

THE LOST ROMANCE— Paramount

WILLIAM deMILLE, continuing his study of the problems
that beset the way of married folk, gives the old story of
the two men and a girl enough of an original twist to save it
from triteness. It is a human story, and though plainly twist-
ed this way and that to suit the picture need of the moment,
the interest is well sustained, both by the pictures themselves,
which are rich in background, and by the acting, which is ex-
cellent. Lois Wilson and Conrad Nagel are again neatly
paired as the young married people, and Fontaine La Rue and
Jack Holt do nicely by the other pair.

BOYS WILL BE BOYS— Goldwyn

THERE is more in Irvin Cobb's story of "Boys Will Be
Boys" than Clarence Badger and Will Rogers have ex-
tracted from it. But whether they deliberately cut it to
four reels, or whether it was cut by the theater_ manager to
shorten his bill we do not know. As it stands it is two-thirds
preface and one-third story, which is disappointing. The
Kentuckian "white trash," Peep O'Day, who inherits $40,(300
and starts out to enjoy the youth he missed as a boy, isn't a

Photoplay Magazine

particularly attractive character, even with all the human
appeal that Rogers can give him. But his adventures, after the
shyster lawyer brings a show girl from Cincinnati to pose as
his niece and rob him of his inheritance, do offer dramatic and
comedy possibilities of which no advantage is taken. Rogers
is fairly successful in establishing the character, and the titles,
half Cobb and half Rogers, are especially good.

SHAM — Paramount

THERE is little that is convincing about "Sham." But it is
an average program picture and fairly entertaining, thanks
mainly to the favoring sense of comedy that permits Thomas
Heffron, the director, to make the most of his material. The
story is the familiar one of the young woman reared in luxury
who tries to keep up appearances on an income of nothing a
year. She "grafts" outrageously from her rich relatives and
her rich friends and is about to marry a wealthy suitor she
doesn't love while there is a broad-shouldered Westener wait-
ing around the corner with whom she knows she would be
much happier. Just why these fascinating lovers always have
to be western men I do not know. Some day a picture author
W'ill spring a novelty by giving the eastern boys a chance.
"Sham" is well played by Ethel Clayton and a cast that
includes Theodore Roberts, a fine actor continually wasted on
small and insignificant parts; Clyde Fillmore and fat Walter
Heirs to provide the fat Walter Heirs comedy.

THE WILD GOOSE— Cosmopolitan-Paramount

BEING reasonably familiar with the story of the husband
who either neglects his wife, or makes a fuss over her
extravagances in the shops, and thus throws her into the arms
of the other fellow, the average movie fan is inclined to be
extremely critical of the way it is told. It happens that in the
screening of Gouverneur Morris' "The Wild Goose," it is not
well told, but it is no worse than hundreds of other triangle
plays. I do not think the audience took kindly to the state-
ment of the play's theme, that the wild goose, once mated, can
be depended upon to stick to the home nest. For another they
might not believe that a husband who discovered, after a period
of years, that his wife still loved another man, and was eager
to help him, would deliberately help her by putting himself
out of the way. The fact that he carried the villain with him
when he drove his motor car over the cliff did not offer a suffi-
cient excuse for his useless sacrifice, and so the situation might
be accepted as comedy rather than tragedy. The acting was
competent, Mary MacLaren, Dorothy Bernard and Holmes
Herbert playing the principal parts. Albert Capellani did the
directing.

THE HOME STRETCH— Ince-Paramount

HERE is the engaging Douglas MacLean in the sort of thing
he does best — the adventure of a wholesome youth who is
buffeted by fate for four reels and rewarded in the fifth. With
a racehorse on his hands it was natural to anticipate that
when the hero was down to his last copper, the horse, named
"Honeyblossom," would come romping home with the prize
money and clear up both the mortgages and the love interest.
But it happens in this instance that Honeyblossom stumbles
in "The Home Stretch" because Douglas runs in front of him
to save the life of a little girl. An exceptionally graphic bit,
this race scene. Eventually the hero does acquire money, and
starts overnight for a tour of Europe, leaving the heroine dis-
consolate. But she reaches the dock in time to wave her hand
at him and he promptly dives over the rail and swims ashore.

SNOWBLIND— Goldwyn

"VY J E did not care much for "Snowblind." The effort to
** force an interest in a story that, as it is told on the screen,
is not particularly interesting, nor concerned with interesting
characters, left us as cold as the background of the frozen north
against which it is set. There is, however, an idea back of the
story that gives it some value. An evil-tempered man of mid-
dle age is hiding in the north country after having murdered
a man in England. With him are his younger brother and the
woman who was the boy's nurse. After fifteen years of exile
the hunted murderer picks up a girl who has wandered away
from a traveling theatrical troupe and been blinded by the
glare of the snow. Falling in love with the girl, he lies to her
about himself and the people with him until he has convinced

"The Woman God Changed is the story of a woman s
trial for murder, directed with the fine skill of Robert
Vignola. This should put Seena Owen in the star class.

"Boys Will Be Boys is two-thirds preface and one-third

story. Clarence Badger and Will Rogers did not seem to

extract all that Irvin Cobb put into the story.

We enjoyed "The Ten Dollar Raise" because Peter B.

xxyne wrote into it strength of plot, a flash of adventure

not illogical, and an appealing human-ness.

Photoplay Magazine

"Two Weeks Without Pay" gives Bebe Daniels oppor-
tunity to wear pretty frocks. It is a nice little story of a
mannikin ana a movie actress, both roles falling to Bebe.

The talents of the amateur detective are defied to discover
who fired the fatal shot in The Scarab Ring. The end-
ing will surprise you. Alice Joyce is starred.

"Love's Penalty." featuring Hope Hampton, is a dramatic

story that ends flatly. Not a picture of which the censors

will particularly approve.

her he is the one worthy person in the group, but she recovers
her sight in time to know the truth and immediately transfers
her love to the younger man. The hunted one is well played
by Russell Simpson. Pauline Starks, Cullen Landis and Mary
Alden give good support. Reginald Barker directed.

WHITE AND UNMARRIED— Paramount

EVEN as a crook Thomas Meighan is an alluring sort of
hero. And after he inherits a million dollars in "White
and Unmarried," and reforms, you rather expect him to turn
out a gentleman. His fine clothes and his careful speech stamp
him as a good catch, even for a beautiful heiress. But the mak-
ers of this photoplay wanted to be consistent, so while they
start Tommy's interest in a fair young blonde of the upper set
they turn him over frankly to a shimmy dancer in a Parisian
cafe. It is an entertaining picture, despite its failure to follow
a set line of developments. There is a suggestion that the
director and his assistants would have enjoyed burlesquing
it if they had dared. The titles make fun of the action fre-
quently, which will amuse as many as grasp their intended
subtleties and mystify the rest. But the Meighan performance
and the pictures as pictures will satisfy the majority. The two
girls are played by Grace Darmond and Jacqueline Logan.
Tom Forman did the directing.

A WISE FOOL— Paramount

TT is high time that some one stepped in and saved James
*■ Kirkwood from any more stupid and badly written stories.
Here is one of the fine actors of the screen being made a cats-
paw to pull involved and uninteresting scenarios out of the
cinema fire. "A Wise Fool" is the latest — and if Sir Gilbert
Parker made his own adaptation for the screen, as it is said he
did, he had better turn the next one over to the hired men of
the studio. The attempt to tell the life story of a picturesque
French Canadian is justified by the possibilities of the yarn,
but the construction which starts the hero on a pilgrimage to
Paris, then as abruptly brings him home again without giving
him a chance to arrive; then marries him to a little girl in the
steerage he met on the way home without any reasonable
action to excuse his interest in her, has wasted a reel or two on
nothing at all of story value. We found "A Wise Fool" dull
and uninteresting. George Melford did the directing, and Mr.
Kirkwood, whose performance was sympathetic and intelli-
gent, was capably assisted by Alice Hollister, Ann Forrest and
Alan Hale.

By Photoplay Editors

REPUTATION— Universal

AFTER several years of fighting her way through "crook"
melodramas, Priscilla Dean emerges, in spite of them, an
actress of marked ability. This she proves in "Reputation."
For the story itself, taken from the Edwina Levin novel "False
Colors," little can be said. It is melodramatic, its discrepancies
are glossed over with casual titles, and an extraordinary amount
of credulity is demanded of the audience. Miss Dean, however,
through her unusual portrayal of a difficult dual role, reveals
talent that would do credit to an older and more experienced
actress.

LOVE'S PENALTY— First National

REMEMBERING a former Hope Hampton photoplay, we
approached this one with a pessimism rivaling that of
Schopenhauer. However, we are glad to say that Miss Hamp-
ton redeems herself in a dramatic story not lacking in enter-
tainment value. It is regrettable that so many of this season's
film offerings end flatly, and that this one must be numbered
among them, but there are flashes of originality and suspense
which prevent interest flagging. Percy Marmont is the man-
in-the-case. Not a picture of which censors will particularly
approve, and don't take the children.

J' ACCUSE— Marc Klaw

COMES now the Frenchman Abel Gance with a war picture
written, produced and directed by himself. At present,
in its fourteen reels it is of wearisome length depicting as we
saw depicted during the early days of the World War, horror,
devastation and death. In many ways the production is
extraordinary and though faulty of (Continued on page 82)

Drawn by Norman Anthony

Director — "You'll have to go out and bring in a bunch of extras to clap.
The star says she can't go on without applause."

NOT LISTED IN THE GUIDE BOOKS

At tke right: a lot of Hollywood scenery —
so muck of it that it is very difficult to
photograph Rex Ingram s hillside bungalow
at all. It isn't a regulation movie palace,
the home of the young director of "The
Four Horsemen — but it s comfortable !
We understand the bungalow may have a
new mistress before long, it Alice Terry
decides to become Mrs. Ingram.

Above: the home of Mary
MacLaren, Kathenne Mac-
Donald, and their mother.
Mary built it several years
ago, in the fashionable Wilt-
shire district of Los Angeles.
Who would suspect from its
demure exterior that it shel-
tered two world-famous film
stars? Not the tourist from
Iowa!

If you ever see a picture
of this home at the left
captioned as belonging to
any motion picture star,
somebody lied ! While it
has been reported the
property of everybody
from Mary Pickford to
Ben Turpin, it really
belongs to two old bach-
elors named Burnheimer.

The quiet, unpretentious home
of a princess of thrillers.
Ruth Roland's white plaster
California home, pictured
below, might belong to any
prosperous merchant with a
bridge-playing wife and three
lovely children. Instead, it
provides just the right atmos-
phere of relaxation after Ruth s
strenuous studio days.

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At the left — another home so suc-
cessfully hidden that the rubber-
neck men seldom take the trouble
to point it out at all. It s Jesse
Lasky's vine-covered dwelling.
Lasky is vice-president of Para-
mount, you know.

Photography by
Stagg

Hidden away in the

Hollywood hills are homes

the tourist seldom sees.

Above : the house Viola
Dana built for her mother
ana father not long ago,
in Beverly Hills, where
many other celluloid
celebrities live. Directly
above, the swimming
pool on the Dana place,
which is one of the largest
private pools in the West.
It is the scene of many
gay summer parties.

The home of James Cruze.
Lasky director, and his wife.
Marguerite Snow, is really a
charming place — if one could
only see it. It occupies the top
of a little hill all its own in
Hollywood, the particular prov-
ince of little Peggy Snow Cruze
who is, incidentally, quite a big
girl by now.

You would rather expect
Colleen Moore to live in a
real, homelike place like
this one above, wouldn't
you? Miss Moore built it
for her mother after she
graduated from Christie
comedies to be a dramatic
star under Marshall
Neilan s direction.

The cottage above doesn t look much like the Queen
of Sheba s palace, but Betty Blythe, who played that
historic lady, wouldn t trade this little bungalow in
the Hollywood hills for any royal dwelling. Her
husband, Paul Scardon, lives here, too.

Elliott Dexter s new home — pictured at the right —
was built by Carrie Jacobs Bond, the composer —
who wrote The End of a Perfect Day. ' She called
this house "The End of the Road because it sym-
bolized the realization of all her dreams. It meets
all of Elliott's requirements, too.

THE WOMAN WHO
CAME BACK

"The girl with the golden voice"

Broadway called Victory Bateman

thirty years ago.

By
ADELA ROGERS ST. JOHNS

Dorothy Davenport Reid (Mrs. Wallace
Reid) still remembers hearing that Vic-
tory Bateman had more men in love with
her than any other woman in New York.

OUT on one of the studio lots in Hollywc od there is a
character woman named Victory Bateman.
I happened to see her name the other day on a type-
written cast list, in the casting director's office —

"Mrs. Smiley . . . Victory Bateman."

I read them — re-read them, those four words. And I felt
numbed, startled, as I still do when I discover that the whole
history of the human race is right at my door, if I but look
for it.

Four words. But I sensed somehow that back
of them lay all the drama, all the heart-throbs,
all the joys and sorrows that a woman's life
could hold.

I said to a director who was standing there,
"Victory Bateman. Not the Victory Bateman?"

But he only shook his head. He had never
heard of the Victory Bateman or any other Vic-
tory Bateman. Nor did he care.

But — I did. So I went to find out.

And this is what I discovered.

A year ago, this woman named Victory Bate-
man went to a famous author on the Metro lot,
who has been intimately connected with the
theater for man}' years. He knew her.

And she said to him, "I need work. I have
been very ill for a long time. I don't dare go
back east to face the cold winter there. Get me
something — anything — to do."

I don't know what else she said. I don't
know what story of bad luck, hopelessness, sick-
ness, loneliness she told him. There are some
things that it is better to leave covered with the
kindly veil of silence.

Anyway, the famous author got her a "bit" —
no, honestly, it wasn't even a bit, it was just
"atmosphere."

But she took it. She needed it.

So Victory Bateman was one of a score of ex-
tra people in a cabaret scene in May Allison's
starring vehicle "Are All Men Alike?" To the
cameraman the director, even the star, that is
all she was — one of a score of extra people.

Victory Bateman!

Vet suddenly, without anyone knowing how

or why, she seemed to stand out from the crowd. In her char-
acter of a broken-down cabaret singer, she radiated realism,
embodied the whole intention of the sequence. With masterful
strokes, she created this old wreck — her eyes trying to smile
gayly through tired tears, her painted mouth awry above false
teeth, her quivering hands — a living thing for them all to see.

They gave her a long scene. Nobody knew just why. Nobody
realized that they were all in the grip of great dramatic genius.

s she is

today, in "Cinderella's Twin," with Viola Dana.

Photoplay Magazine

Today Victory Bateman is playing leading character roles.
She is now cast for a big role in Bert Lytell's new picture, "A
Trip to Paradise." She has leaped in those few months into
the front ranks of motion picture character women.

She has multiplied the five dollars she got that first day to
ten times that much.

Some people wonder, and watch, and speak of luck.

But the old-timers, the few people who know the history of
the theater and who remember Broadway and its favorite
thirty years ago — they know.

Victory Bateman!

No wonder she rose instantaneously from extras to high class
character parts.

No wonder even the cold eye of the camera was drawn bv her
dramatic power and understanding.

No wonder that by sheer merit and ability, without telling
the old friends who knew her, without asking help of anyone
after that first day, without telling anyone who she was or
what she had done, she climbed meteorically to the top.

For you see, she was Mansfield's leading woman, Edwin
Booth's favorite and most famous "Lady Macbeth,'' she was
co-starred with Lawrence Hanley, Aubrey Boucicault and Nat
Goodwin. She was a member of the original all-star cast of
"Diplomacy" with Rose and Robert Coughlin. Thirty years
ago she was the most popular and most famous stock leading
woman in America, the idol of thousands, the toast of Broad-
way, one of the little, glittering coterie of stars in New York.

"The woman with the golden voice" they used to call her
Over and over the great critics declared that she alone of
American actresses could rival the divine Sarah in exquisite
tones and vocal spell-binding.

She created the leading feminine role when Mansfield first
presented "Cyrano de Bergerac" in New York.

She created "Dora" in "Diplomacy," one of the greatest suc-
cesses the American stage ever saw.

And though she weighed only 90 pounds when she played the
tremendous and tragic role of "Lady Macbeth," Edwin Booth
declared he would rather have her than anyone else because her
dramatic power and the magnificence of her voice gave her the
real force and supreme conviction for the role.

So you see, I was not surprised when I found what she had
accomplished.

I was only surprised that she should ever have had to accom-
plish them.

I know a very fine actor who always claimed that she was the
greatest actress this country ever produced, and who always
illustrated his points by stories of her achievements on the
stage of yesterday.

John Eleming Wilson, the author, said to me the other day,
"It didn't matter where Miss Bateman played, whether she had
an}- scenery, any cast, any costumes. She was so superb an
artist that she overcame everything. I do not think I have ever
known an actress who has so tremendous an effect upon
audiences." {Continued on page 99 )

Drawn by Norman Anthony

Managei "I've got a great part for you — twin sisters!

Star "Then you'll have to double my salary!"

Hidden Children
of the Screen

"Primping Up" on the employ-
er's time. This vanity costs big
organizations, the movies snow,
thousands of dollars each year.

ANEW and novel use for the
moving picture screen has
been developed in the United
States which promises to
elevate the cinematographic art to
a point little dreamed of by Edison
in the kinetoscope days. This use,
for want of a better term — the en-
terprise is so new — is called
"employe morale," or "morale" pic-
tures, and a dozen of the biggest
employers of labor, skilled and un-
skilled, in the country are experi-
menting and some have gone far
beyond the experimental point.

Movies have for years been pro-
duced with an eye to attracting the
nickels and dimes of the average
man and the producer has had to
be, above all, a judge of public taste
and the public taste of many kinds
of people in order to draw the
crowds to his screen. Thousands of
dollars are now being spent, how-
ever, on productions which will
never be seen by anybody but the
employes of one commercial con-
cern— the concern producing the
picture — and after it has had its run
before such limited audiences it will
be filed away.

These morale productions are
new and must not be confused with
the ordinary industrial or business
picture. They are not intended to
sell goods, to advertise, and in fact,
not to educate; they are designed to
raise'the morale of groups of work-
ers— men and women — in given
factories. They tell no "story" —
they have no plot; they do not
preach. They carry the story of the
"big office" to the busy thousands

in the lathe room, stock room and machine shop, and induce
loyalty and better understanding between employer and
employe.

They are intended to prevent waste, to increase personal
efficiency and to prevent restlessness and awaken the worker
to a better understanding. of his relationship to the organ-
ization. They also make clear the problems of the business
which the employe is apt to overlook in his distance from the
front office and the firm's executives.

Jam Handy, of the Bray Studios, originated and has pro-

A scene from a motion picture produced by J. R.
Bray, demonstrating the action of an electrical
water pump. The principles of animated car-
tooning are applied in the making of this mm.

Morale movies, seldom shown
outside the workshop, are pre
moting a better understanding
between capital and labor.

LYNE S.

METCALFE

duced several of these pictures,
one of them, in three reels, entitled
"Waste Can't Win." This pro-
duction was made for a manufac-
turing company in Ohio which
employs 7,000 skilled workmen
and women. Few outsiders except
the employes of this firm will see
the picture projected, as it is
strictly an organization picture
and built for the needs of the firm
itself.

Psychology is the keynote of this
morale production — the psychol-
ogy of the workman whose short-
comings generally are hard to cure
by lecture or printed word. The
movies, however, promise to
arouse and hold interest and to
impress the men with the things
they must do and the things they
must not do in order to further
the interests of the firm and there-
fore their personal interests. The
picture starts off with animated
diagrams, interspersed with car-
toons which show the war record
of the firm and visualize the deple-
tion of skilled help, due to the
draft and (Continued on page 100)

A suggestion that ap-
pears in the National
Cash Register film,
"Waste Can't Win" —
the idle chatter of
inefficient employes
might be "harnessed
into usefulness.

Sharpening a pencil see
tion, according to this
Win." It requires the

ms to be an unusual opera-
scene from "Waste Can't
attention of five employes.

~P/ays and Jpfayers

Real news and in-
teresting comment
about motion pic-
tures and motion
picture people.

By
CAL. YORK

SPEAKING of engagements makes me
feel just like one of these dear society
editors, I have so many of them to
announce this month.

It's been a terribly rainy month in Holly-
wood, no golf to speak of, not much work
and very little to drink, so everybody appar-
ently has spent the time getting engaged.

Betty Ross Clarke appeared in the Los
Angeles papers on May 18th with the head-
line, "Cupid Corrals Pretty Betty." Isn't
that sweet?

Anyway, she admits that she has fallen in
love and will become Mrs. Arthur Collins to
prove it. And if a girl is willing to go as far
as that to prove a thing — 'nuff sed.

Mr. Collins is a young business man in
Los Angeles, was a lieutenant in the British
Royal Air Forces and was severely wounded
in France. At present he is in charge of the
Foreign Exchange Department of a Bank.
(Doesn't that sound financial and every-
thing?)

They fell in love at first sight at a dinner
dance — don't know whether it was their
table manners or their dancing — but the
wedding is to be as soon as possible. The
bride-to-be has recently played the leading
feminine role with Roscoe Arbuckle in
"The Traveling Salesman" and in the Ince
production "Mother o' Mine."

MARGUERITE DE La MOTTE is to
become the bride of Mitchell Lyson , art
director for William de Mille. And I guess
everybody in Hollywood is glad of it. If
there were ever two people so much in love
that they weren't any good to the rest of the
world, it's been Mitch and the lovely
Marguerite. Their love affair has extended
over the past year, but Miss de la Motte, who
is only just turned eighteen, thought she
was too young to marry. However, the
wedding bells are about to burst forth.

LLOYD HUGHES— by the way, there's
an awfully nice boy and a regular fellow
— and Gloria Hope have announced that
they are soon to be the principals in a little
domestic drama. Just when the minister is
to be called upon to make them one they
haven't decided, at least they say they
haven't.

GLADYS BROCKWELL is also soon to
become a bride again. Her engage-
ment to William Scott, a promising young
juvenile, has caused considerable surprise
and excitement in the film world this month.
Miss Brockwell evidently believes in the
good old adage about three times being the
charm — because this is her third venture on
the matrimonial seas.

So, with Jack Gilbert and Leatrice Joy
ready to take the fatal plunge and Doris
May and Wallace McDonald a month out
on their domestic voyage, Cupid certainly
can claim a thriving business in the movie
colony.

Little Mary Fauntleroy and D Artagnan Fairbanks. There is no truth to the
widely circulated rumor that an heir is expected in the Fairbanks home.
Mary is quoted as saying. It such a wonderful thing were true, there would
be no reason to deny it. But if such an event were imminent, I should
certainly not be working in pictures.

AND of course there is pretty May
Collins, with her bobbed hair that
Charlie Chaplin cut with his own hand,
blushingly refusing to deny her engagement
to the famous comedian, while he does the
same.

And there is a consistent rumor that
Katherine MacDonald is engaged to a
young society millionaire, whom she is to
wed at the end of her two-year contract
with First National.

THE month's saddest news:
The Selznick company has purchased
screen rights to John Galsworthy's famous
play, "Justice."

John Barrymore did some of the finest
acting of his career in this play, on the stage.

Conway Tearle, Eugene O'Brien, and
Owen Moore are Mr. Selznick's — Lewis',
Myron's, and David's — male stars.

Write your own reviews. We haven't the
heart.

By the way: the principal production of
the Selznick studios in Fort Lee seems
to be their electric signs. They are very fine
flourishing signs, occupying prominent posi-
tions on Broadway.

It must be nice to have signs like that.
And to advertise.

But why waste perfectly good signs on
Miss Zeena Keefe? Not that Miss Keefe is
not a capable actress and a charming young
lady. Not at all. But the signs would seem
to indicate that she was to be a Selznick
star. In fact, it was announced in a grand
manner, that, after serving an apprentice-

ship as leading woman opposite several
male stars, she would be an individual
luminary. The announcement was issued
many months ago. And now we hear that
Miss Keefe is no longer with Selznick; we
know that she worked in a picture for Cos-
mopolitan, and the latest is that she is going
back to vaudeville, whence she came. The
public forgets, but you can't fool it all the
time.

What, as George M. Cohan would in-
quire, what's all the shootin' for?

EDITH HALLOR and Jack Dillon were
married this month, at a beautiful
home wedding in Shirley Mason's apart-
ments at the Hollywood Hotel.

The actual event was a surprise, though
rumors connecting the star and director
have been flying about for some time.

Shirley Mason was matron of honor and
her husband, Bernard Durning, was best
man.

WHEN' Tom Moore— the poet, not the
Goldwyn star — wrote "Believe me if
all those endearing young charms — " he
didn't know a film producer would make it
the theme of a motion picture. Even if he
had, he might not have objected, until he
learned that the title of the picture based on
his innocent poem was "The Supreme
Passion."

Is there any excuse for this sort of thing?
Sugar-coating a drag-'em-in title by adver-
tising the fact that the story was based on a
famous poem?

Plays and Players

( Continued)

"Mother" Sylvia Askton and "Daddy" Theodore Roberts, the most popular

film parents in the world. Yes, that cellarette effect at the lower left of the

picture contains juice, but not the kind you mean. It s only part of the

electrical equipment. You stumble over them in every studio.

TACK PICKFORD was asking Rubye de
J Remer about the "e" on the end of her
first name.

"Why Ruby-e?" asked the youngest
member of the Pickford family.

"Well, it's like this," said the blonde
star, "when I was a kid going to school in
Denver, I had two sisters. Their names
were Lucy and Sady. We all decided our
names weren't romantic enough, so we put
the e on. And I've always kept it, so that
now I couldn't get along without it."

And when sister Lottie came trooping in
with the statement that she was on her way
down to see "Over the Hill" and wanting to
know what Miss de Remer thought of it,
Ruby-with-an-"e" answered,

"Well, all I can say about 'Over the Hill'
is that it's the kind of a picture where you
want to take off all your mascara before you
go or they'll think you're doubling for Al
Jolson when you come out."

A CLOUD has hovered over the studio
land in Hollywood for tne past few
weeks, owing to the serious and possibly in-
curable illness of George Loane Tucker,
creator of "The Miracle Man."

At his home in Los Angeles, Mr. Tucker
has hovered for some weeks between life
and death, and latest reports from his bed-
side have been discouraging in the extreme.

Several operations have been performed in
an attempt to meet the cause of his illness,
and the last one was believed for a time to
have been successful. But a collapse a few

days ago again sunk his friends into despair.

The director who made what is easily the
most beloved film of recent years, is a young
man and the film world has expected much
from his genius.

Everyone who knows him is clinging to
the thought that "while there's life there's
hope" and that Mr. Tucker will rally and
gain his strength once more.

Blanche Sweet has also been seriously ill,
and left a Los Angeles hospital only a few
weeks ago in a condition that caused her
family and friends much concern. The
beautiful little star is said to have weighed
less than seventy pounds when she came
home to begin recuperating.

However, she is much better, is eating
well and hopes soon to be herself again.

THIS is really too good to keep.
We hear that Eileen Percy — the little
blonde Fox star — is in training to take on
the winner of the Dempsey-Carpentier
battle.

Anyway, 'tis said that Miss Percy, who is
an exceedingly athletic young woman if she
doesn't look it, when insulted or annoyed
can take care of herself to the extent of
breaking a fellow's nose in a couple of places
if necessary.

Rumor hath it that she has demonstrated
her power to this extent upon a recent
occasion, the receiving end of the punch
being a gentleman — of alcoholic tendencies
— not connected with movie pictures.

Speaking of the Dempsey-Carpentier

mix-up, it is a scream to see the various
western film stars trying to fix up their
schedules so that they can go to the scrap,
while the lesser lights are scraping together
enough coin to make the journey, or looking
for a job as somebody's valet, press agent
or baggage smasher.

RAH, rah, rah, Betty!
Betty Blythe has been elected the
histrionic queen of Princeton.

She succeeds such worthy rulers as Maude
Adams — who for many years held this
honor undisputed — and Norma Talmadge,
who won it last year.

The queen is elected by the entire student
body of Princeton for beauty and ability.

Betty Blythe has every right to the honor
and deserves it, and we're glad she got it.

She wired the Princeton boys her sincere
thanks and appreciation and is going to take
a trip down there to see them while on her
eastern visit.

Just about the same time, Elsie Ferguson
was voted the favorite actress of the seniors
of Yale University.

The screen is having everything its own
way, it seems.

THERE is one woman in Los Angeles who
is grateful to pictures and who certainly
has a system.

She is the mother of thirteen children,
ranging from a few months up to fourteen
years of age.

All of them work in pictures.

In the morning the mother gets out the
Ford from the garage, takes her note book
and pencil, and starts distributing her flock.

She leaves little Tommy here and little
Annie there, noting in the little black book
where each one is. When she has them all
delivered, she returns to superintend the
youngest.

The sound of the five o'clock whistle is
practically a self-starter for the Lizzie and
she makes the rounds and picks up her
troop and takes them home.

HEARING a loud and apparently disas-
trous noise in the backyard the other
morning, Dorothy Davenport Reid, wife of
Wallace Reid, went in haste to investigate.

She found the four year old heir to the
Reid fortunes sitting on the chest of a little
girl from across the street, much older than
himself but apparently getting the worst of
the battle, as young Bill pummelled her
vigorously.

"Billy, Billy," cried Mrs. Reid, taking her
son by the collar and removing him, "what
in the world are you doing? That's dread-
ful, dear. What made you jump on Helen
like that?"

Bill's lip quivered, he hid his face on his
mother's skirt and at last said, between
bitter sobs, "Mother, she — " sob, "she said
my daddy," — sob "was — was pretty!"

ONE of Photoplay's fiction contest
stories, "The Gossamer Web," by
John M. Moroso, has been purchased by
Universal to be adapted into a photoplay
for the dramatic use of Edith Roberts. It
should make a good picture.

ARRY CAREY is no longer the boss of
_ his ranch in California.
Henry George Carey, Jr., arrived in May.

FAMOUS Players may sign The Kid. If
he — or rather, his father — decides that
Jackie Coogan will become a Paramounter,
a new name will probably be added to the
all-star cast of "Peter Ibbetson," which al-
ready includes Wallace Reid, Elsie Fergu-
son, Elliott Dexter, George Fawcett, and
Montagu Love. To George Fitzmaurice
falls the pleasant task of allotting the same
number of closeups to each luminary.

Plays and Players

(Continued)

WILLIE Collier, who came to Los An-
geles last week in "The Hottentot,"
was given a great welcome by the movie
folk, with whom he is an immense favorite,
professionally and personally.

The opening night brought out most of
the famous film stars — more than I have
seen anywhere except at the Al Jolson open-
ing a few weeks ago.

Mr. and Mrs. Douglas Fairbanks (Mary
Pickford) occupied a front box to which
Mr. Collier directed some special attention.
Mary looked adorable, her curls done up
under an exquisite hat of Copenhagen blue,
with a broad curving brim and a fascinating
ribbon under her chin. She wore a gown of
white satin, with blue, that had the newest
opening down the back from the throat to
the shoulders, and she carried an enormous
and beautiful corsage of baby roses. Doug,
sporting the new moustache which he has
grown for the "Three Musketeers" and
Mrs. Pickford, Mary's mother, in black
lace and a black and rose hat, sat beside her.

In the box across from them were Mr.
and Mrs. Bert Lytell and Mr. and Mrs. H.
B. Warner — the first time I have seen Mrs.
Warner out since the new heir to the Warner
name arrived. She looked very sweet,
wrapped in a fur coat, with a black poke
bonnet. Another party was composed of
Allan Dwan, Mary Thurman, in ivory satin
and a chic green tulle hat with a cocky little
feather over one ear, Lila Lee, very stately
and young-ladyfied in black with a big
Spanish comb in her smooth dark hair, and
Alice Lake, glittering in silver, with a dia-
mond circlet holding her hair. Ruth
Roland was in a box, with an attentive
suitor. She wore black net, very low cut,
and a big, drooping black hat and in her
hands she held one gorgeous American
beauty rose, which she raised daintily to her
nose every now and then. She was really
quite a picture. Shirley Mason, in black
sequins and rose velvet, tripped out be-
tween acts beside her handsome husband,
Bernie Durning. She looked about as big
as a minute — she just comes above 'his
waist line, you know.

King and Florence Yidor — Mrs. Vidor
really is almost too lovely when she wears
those soft shimmering gray things at night —
had a box party and Betty Compson was
there, also in gray georgette with lace dyed
to match, which gave her rich, dark red hair
the most wonderful tone possible.

BETTY HILBURN was married, in the
merry month of May, to one Arthur
Worth, the son of a New York merchant. '
Will Betty give up her screen career? We
wouldn't be at all surprised. She hasn't
been given much of importance to do since
she cast her lot with the Griffith company,
and that isn't very satisfactory to an actress
with Betty's ambitions.

THAT time-honored favorite, "The Two
Orphans," is not to be allowed to rest in
peace.

A certain producing director, whose most
recent success was the subjugation of an ice
flow, is engaged in taming the Two Orphans
for his next super-extra-special production.

MARSHALL NEILAN has announced a
new policy. He is going to make only
two pictures a year. Each will require six
months in the making. The first will enlist
the services of a well-known stage star, it is
said. The other will feature Colleen Moore.
Marjorie Daw, the little actress who sup-
plied the sweetness and light for some of
Air. Xeilan's finest productions, has left to
join the newly-formed Marion Fairfax com-
pany. Pat O'Malley, also a former Neilan
player, will act opposite Miss Daw in the
first Fairfax release.

(Continued on page 83)

ENGAGED!

Above, at the left, observe Miss Gloria Hope, who has just engaged
herself to Lloyd Hughes. The marriage will take place sometime in
the fall. Were going to stay married !" says Gloria. "ltd be six
months earlier, if I had my way!" says Mr. Hughes.

The profile at your
right is disconso-
late because it has
to be pictured here
alone, while the
others are all, in a
manner of speak-
ing, photographic-
ally attached. But
it s Marguerite de
la Motte's own
fault, because she
is engaged to
Mitchell Lyson.
who isn t an actor,
but an art director.

Hollywood, the
scene of so many
make-believe ro-
mances, is experi-
encing the real
thing. Never be-
fore in the history
of the famous, col-
ony have so many
engagements been
announced. Pic-
tured on this page
are a few — just a
few — of the young-
set of the real-life
romanticists.

Above: A pre-view of Mr. and Mrs. Jack Gilbert. Perhaps Mr. Gil-
bert will insist upon being known as John when he is married to Leatnce
Joy. To tell the truth. Jack and Leatnce have been engaged for
some time, but they wouldn t admit it until recently.

Photograph by
Ed-ward Thayer Monroe

Adele Rowland, the songstress — (Mrs.
Conway Tearle) — believes that part of the
duty of a screen idol s wife is to be the
conscience of her lord. "It is not enough
that he does well his work in pictures.
He has a certain duty of amiability. It is
part of my job to keep him looking and
feeling up to his lithographs.

Conway

Tearle on

the farm at

Chappaqua,

New York.

Girls — be careful! This handsome actors wife
reads all his letters ! "It is well for maids who pour
out their hearts in letters to \now this," she says.

BEING a
| SCREEN IDOUS

WIFE

As Adele Rowland con-
fided it to Ada Patterson

BEING the wife of a screen idol is one long fight against his
insensibility to his state of being idolized.
One must be valet, conscience and memory to such a
spouse. Valet because he may be of real man-stuff kind,
like my husband, Conway Tearle, who won't have any other
valet about him.

" I won't have some fellow around to lay out my one sock.
Or my other shirt. I won't, " says Conway Tearle, whom at
home I call Freddie. His first name is Frederick. So there is
but one thing to do. I lay out the "one sock" and the "other
shirt" and say "Now get into them. There's a dear!" If my
consort becomes a multi-millionaire, which he nor anyone else
is likely to do at the present falling prices of movie actors, he
will never have an obsequious "man's man" bowing around
him. His wife will have to be his wardrobe mistress.- As some
men loathe barbers, and as others detest waiters, so he con-
temns valets. To him they are the superfluous lies.

It is the part of Conway Tearle's wife to understudy a valet,
and I do. Why not? An actress
once publicly sighed for a re-
turn to good old domestic times.
She wanted to darn socks. I
hope she has had the chance. I
darn my husband's socks if the
darning woman fails. And as I
say, I lay them out well within
the range of his vision. If I did
not he might follow the example
of the Kansas statesman and
eschew them. He might become
the sockless Jerry Simpson of
the silver screen. One never
knows what an absent-minded
hero may do. My life is watch-
ful waiting for frayed collars and
instant confiscation of them.

One must be the conscience of
her screen idol lord. That is,
she must be his mentor as to
what he owes his public. It is
not enough that he does well his
work in pictures. He has a cer-
tain duty of amiability and con-
sideration— a courtesy, a quid
pro quo for its support of him.
He must answer its letters. I
help mine in his task. I first
read them. It is as well for
maids who pour out their hearts
in letters to know this. Some
feminine eyes are fairly sure to
read the outpourings before they
reach the man for whom they

are intended, if only those of his secretary. It is a devoted
wife who reads all her husband's appreciative letters. It hap-
pens that I am devoted and that I do.

For instance, this: "Adorable Conway Tearle of the mid-
night eyes and the hair like the raven's wing; I am the girl in
the pink scarf. I stood close to you when you came out of the
theater where you made your personal appearance this after-
noon. I reached forth my hand and timidly touched the sleeve
of your coat. I thought your arm vibrated an answer. I hope
so. Did it?"

I read this to Freddie while he ate his four-minute boiled
eggs at breakfast and his three slices of toast. Sometimes he
eats four slices. He has a robust appetite. One must have an
unromantic appetite to create the romantic roles of the screen.

My husband made a face. "Fudge!" he growled. "The
girl's crazy."

He confides in me that he dreads exhibiting himself in pub-
lic. "Being so conspicious makes me self-conscious,"

"I have a
delusion th

devoted husband. Mr. Tearle nurses the fond
at no one can sing as well as I, nor look so well.

he complains. "While I was on the stage
I wanted people to look at me and whisper
behind their hands, 'There goes Conway
Tearle.' But it's different now. I thought
I would like it, but I don't. They get so
near when they whisper. One hears them.
It makes one think about himself and a
chap looks and feels so silly when he is
thinking about himself."

It is part of my job to keep him looking
and feeling up to his lithograph. We were
driving down town last evening to see a
play. An automobile driven by a girl and
filled with girls approached. I saw their
quick look of recognition before he did. He
was inspecting the skyline and wondering
whether he would awake next morning in
time to get to the studio by seven. Even
with the aid of an alarm clock. That is his
dominant thought.

I spoke to him. He didn't hear. I
pinched him for emphasis. I said, "Look
pleasant, Freddie. Your audience comes. "
He looked down guiltily and smiled vague-
ly. The girls waved their hands and shout-
ed, "Hello, Conway!"

We love our Sundays on our farm at
Chappaqua, New York. Arrived there we
get into our oldest clothes. My husband's
best beloved trousers are a shocking, baggy,
fruit-stained pair. He looks so happy in
them I haven't the heart to execute my
threat to burn 'em. He set out last Sunday
collarless, coatless, blissful, to walk to the
next farm for cabbages. In a faded blue
gingham dress I accompanied him. No
'Arry and 'Arriet on their Sunday walking
out in London could have been lighter of
heart. We borrowed cabbages and eggs
from a neighbor who won't sell us anything
because she "do like Misther Tearle" and
started home with them.

Being a Screen Idol's Wife

(Continued)

Conway carried a huge basket of the
enormous cabbages. I trotted beside him
carrying a smaller basket of eggs. An auto-
mobile whizzed past. We heard it slow
down. I looked over my shoulder and saw
it turn. It came back slowly and I heard a
shriek of laughter as it passed us. A woman
in a henna hat was shutting a slide of her
camera. She had snapped my poor Freddie
from the back. Alas! The perpetuity of
the film. He will live with his cabbages
and trousers, a monument to simplicity and
carelessness.

"Never mind, dear," he comforted. "I
never care if I don't see them. It's facing
strangers I dread."

" But, darling, you look so unlike your
three sheets," I mourned.

"Whadda we care?" replied this boy
person I married.

As we neared home I hurried ahead. The
cook wanted those eggs for a custard pie.
Freddie lingered to pick some wild rasp-
berries that thrust their heads up alluringly
from the bushes. Three half-grown girls
sauntered down the road toward me.

"Mrs. Smith told me if we came this
way we would see you coming back," said
the oldest shyly. It was a transparent ruse.

"Come on, darling," I called. "These
maidens want to see you at closer range.
They say they want to see me but I know
it is you."

Outwardly I was gay. Inwardly I was
fearful. "Dear Lord, don't let him be
sulky," I prayed.

My prayer was granted. He came up
the road with a strained smile on his face.
The girls blushed and blushed.

"These are from your audiences," I said
meaningly. He smiled a little more and
shyly nodded. They, fell into the back-

ground and we continued our journey home.

There's a popular impression that a screen
idol's wife is jealous of the attentions he
receives from his public. Avaunt, foolish
thought! She is delighted with such atten-
tion, for it spells success.

True, some of the letters are pointedly
personal. Particularly those from the
Latin American countries, whose writers
do not know well our English. Some of
their letters would be shocking but for
the fact that they indicate a great love for
his pictures as well as himself. The screen
idol's wife who is jealous of the writers
of the missives in his voluminous mail is
being jealous of the prosperity of her house-
hold.

Gifts come. Hundreds of them. A
handkerchief with his monogram, worked
by a woman who said she was eighty and
still embroidered without glasses, my hus-
band accepted. But practically all gifts he
returns. A gold pencil he gave to me be-
cause the sender did not give her address
and he could not return it.

All girls who write to a screen idol do
not make love to him. Some of them tell
him they have seen me and like me. Or say
that they have heard my voice on the rec-
ords and like it. We both like that, but
my husband cares more than I do.

For unromantic though it be from the
standpoint of screen enamored girls, I have
a devoted husband. Mr. Tearle nurses the
fond delusion that no one can sing as well
as I, nor look so well.

When I sing he sits in the audience and
scratches his nails until his fingers bleed.
He is fatuously confident that I will sing
well but is nervous in sympathy with my
nervousness. While I was singing in Irene
(Continued on page 87)

%^/^k

Cherchez
La Film

By RANDOLPH BARTLETT

A PERFECT little angel was Augustus Sankey Beecher.
Never pulled the kitty's tail nor spoke till he was spoken to.
But once, insisting two plus two was five, he killed his teacher,
Which so distressed his parents that their hearts were
nearly broke in two.

Asked for explanation
Of his murd'rous cerebration,
Gus replied, "A moving picture was my only inspiration."

The seven deadly virtues housed themselves in Percy Goozible.

For years he handled cash without the shortage of a dime,
But one day a nosey auditor unearthed some inexcusable
Embezzlements by Percy, and embezzling is a crime.
Interviewed in jail,
This was Percy's tale :
"1 learned it from the movies. That should do instead of bail.

A simple, sinless son of toil was Ethelbert MacGillicuddy,

Happy as a lark and whistling while he wheeled his mortar.
To vary the monotony he took to robbing everybody.
When they nabbed him in a bank he said to a reporter :
"I didn't know 'twas wrong
To take what don't belong
To me, because the movies show such doings right along."

As nice as nice as nice could be was Angelina Bone ;

She never left her chewing gum where it would cause profanity.
So all her friends were mortified to hear that she had flown
With another lady's husband, and they called it psychinsanity.
But Angelina wrote
A purple-scented note:
"It's a trick I learned from watching all them movie queens emote."

O wraiths of burglars dead and gone ! O ghosts of ancient rippers !
Where did you learn the rudiments of all your arts precarious?
Where did you serve your 'prenticeship of jimmy, gun and nippers
Before the movies greased the ways into careers nefarious ?
In days ante-celluloid
How on earth were you decoyed
From the straight and narrow ? Tell us, please, how were
your souls destroyed ?

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Mary Nash — who believes in add-
ing to natural beauty the charm of
Perfect grooming — posed for this charm-
ing photographic study of her lovely hand
because she is a Cutex enthusiast. She
says: " 7 don^t see how I ever tolerated
having mv cuticle cut. Cutex is so easy
to UU), so quick, and makes my nails
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What happens when you
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loee what cutting
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NO matter how careful you are, you simply
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Over these tiny cuts nature quickly builds
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This has made manicuring so simple that
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Cutex Manicure Sets come in three sizes, at
60c, 31.50 and 33.00. Or each of the Cutex
products comes separately at 35c. At all drug
and department stores in the United States and
Canada.

Complete Trial Outfit for 20c.

Mail the coupon belonxi iuith tivo dimes for a Cutex Intro-
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tain Street, Montreal.

Mail this coupon with two dimes today

First, the Cuticle Remover. Dip the end

of an orange stick wrapped in cotton
into the bottle of Cutex Cuticle Remover
and work around the nail base. Wash
the hands; then when drying them, push
the cuticle downwards. The ugly, dead
cuticle will simply wipe off.

Then the Nail White. Cutex Nail White
will remove stains and give the nail tips
an immaculate whiteness. Squeeze the
paste under the nails directly from the
tube, which is made with a pointed tip.

Northam Warren, Dept. 708,
114 West 17th Street,

New York City.

Name

Street

City and State

Finally the Polish. For a delightful,
jewel-like shine use first the Cutex Paste
Polish and then the Powder, and burnish
by brushing the nails lightly across the
palm of the hand. Or you can get an
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without burnishing, by giving them a
light coat of the Liquid Polish.

Cutex Traveling
Set, $1.50

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

One of AnatoTs Affairs

(Continued from page 21)

who would express her enthusiasm for nature by dancing bare-
foot on the lawn, for instance.

A very wise man once said that woman was made to be
loved, not to be understood.

Why not let well enough alone, then?

She may be a twentieth-century Mona Lisa. But only m
odd moments.

If Leonardo da Vinci were alive today, and asked to paint
her, as he undoubtedly would, Agnes would probably say
regretfully, "I'm so sorry, but I'm just leaving on location for
'Cappy Ricks.' "

She was talking about "The Affairs of Anatol":

"I saw the finished picture just before I left California,"
she said, "it is wonderful. I feel about it the same way a
small boy probably feels about a serial — that he just can't sit
back in his seat until he sees how everything will turn out.
The acting is splendid. Gloria Swanson (you know Gloria
and I were together at Essanay in the old days) does her finest
work, I think. Bebe Daniels is simply great. Wanda
Hawley is a revelation. And as for the men, Wally Reid is
the perfect Anatol — and Elliott Dexter and Theodore Roberts
and Monte Blue — think of all those fine actors in one pro-
duction! Not one of them has ever done greater work. As
for temperament — there wasn't any. It is ridiculous to think
that there is bound to be unpleasantness when there is more
than one star in a picture. They were more like one big
family than an all-star cast."

"I thought you were in it."

"I am — just think of actors
like Theodore Kosloff and Clar-
lence Geldart playing small
parts!"

I gave it up.

She is completely devoted to
her nine-months-old niece, Agnes
Ay res II.

"I didn't want them to name
her after me," she said. "I
wanted them to name her any-
thing else in the world but
Agnes. But then, I'm only her
aunt, so what could I do?"

She likes babies, anybody's
baby, but particularly her own
family's baby. She says Gloria
Swanson is a wonderful mother.
She would rather talk about
babies than almost anything
else.

I happen to know several very
nice things about her that she
didn't tell me. I know that she
helped an aspiring candidate to

HOME-FOLKS

By MARGARET SANGSTER

screen honors to gain entrance to the California studios —
she had not met the a. c. since long before her name shone
in electrics. I know that she has not forgotten the days when
she, too, was among the aspiring ones. I know about her
friendship with Alice Joyce, whom she remarkably resembles.
It is rather a tribute to these two actresses that this friendship,
which began when Miss Ayres was at Vitagraph, too, endures
today. Oddly enough, they are much alike, personally as well
as artistically. Both are quiet, sensitive, with an undeserved
reputation for being "upstage." Both have at times that
delicate hauteur, that almost insolent indifference which is
only a mask for their real personalities. And — both are the
idols of the Carr family; that interesting group over which
presides the gentle Mary Carr, of "Over the Hill." Her sons
have played the screen children of Alice and Agnes and the
pictures of both stars now hang in places of honor in the Carr
library — both inscribed in no uncertain terms of loyalty and
affection.

It is nice to know things like that.

Because in the studios, acquaintances and friendships are
made only to be broken by continual changes. And, in the
long meantime, an actress is elevated to stardom, and neces-
sarily her sphere changes. And the old "bunch" resentfully
imagines that she has changed with her career; and the bunch
tells the world so; and the story spreads, the rumor grows, until
the unsuspecting actress would not know herself from the

description current among her
erstwhile friends. And so it goes.
Often it is true; sometimes it is
not.

About three years ago, the
Editor of Photoplay looked
across a hotel dining-room and
saw a slim little girl with sad
eyes and wistful mouth. He
watched her for a moment.
Then he turned to his com-
panion.

"That girl," he said, indicat-
ing her, "is star-dust."
The girl was Agnes Ayres.
Miss Ayres will, according to
present plans, soon be a star in
billing as well as in popularity.
She will be the first American
actress really to go abroad for
Paramount to make pictures in
England and the continent. She
will probably sail in the late
summer or fall, accompanied by
her mother, her company, and

( Concluded on page 107)

'HEN all th' supper things is washed, an'

wiped, an' put away,
My mother says: "I guess I'll go an' see a
photoplav."
An' then she ties her bonnet on, an' steps out spry as

sprv.
An' say — you'd oughter see th' look that sparkles in
her eve!

She talks real friendly 'bout "that Doug," an' of "dear

Charlie Ray.
You'd think she'd met 'em on th' street just only

yesterday;
An' "Mary had her hair done up — she looked most

awful sweet!"
She'll say, just like Miss Pickford lived somewhere

across th' street

My mother's not as young as some; her hair is kinder

white,
But when we argue 'bout th' stars my mother's always

right.
She knows th' movies inside out, she knows 'em upside

down,
An' say, I guess she loves 'em more than anyone in

town !

It's kind of funny how she talks — why, it's like she

enjoys
Their doin's just as if they was her little girls an' boys;
Th' salaries they draw don't count, or who they are,

or were,
She feels real neighborly to them — they're like home

folks to her!

I wonder how they'd feel to know th' way my mother

cares ?
She's diff'rent from th' sort that laughs, an' picks on

them, an' stares;
She b'lieves in all th' things they do — an' all th'

things they say ....
I kinda guess they'd like to know my mother's that-a-

way!

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

America's biggest maker of
yarns tells how to
wash knitted things

FOUR out of every five women who knit use The Fleisher
Yarns. Beautiful in color, uniform in size, weight and
finish, these yarns are used for every type of garment that can
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Because knitted garments usually receive such hard and con-
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the method of washing they have found to be safest and best.

Send today for "How to Launder Fine Fabrics"

Fourteen leading manufacturers of silks, woolens, cottons,
blouses and frocks give their own tested recipes for washing
fine fabrics in this comprehensive new laundering booklet.
Expert and full washing directions for every kind of garment.
Write for your copy today. Lever Bros. Co., Dept. S-8,
Cambridge, Mass.

How to keep knitted garments
shapely and fluffy

Whisk two tablespoonfuls of" Lux
into thick lather in half a bowlful
of very hot water. Add cold water
until lukewarm. Dip garment up
and down, pressing suds repeatedly
through soiled spots. Do not rub.
Rinse in three lukewarm waters.
Squeeze water out — do not "wring.

Colored Woolens. Have suds
and rinsing waters barely luke-
warm. Lux won't cause any color
to run that pure water alone won't
cause to run.

Woolens should be dried in an

even temperature, that of the or-
dinary room is the best. Heat in-
creases shrinkage. Do not dry
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very mild days. Woolens should
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Knitted garments should never be
wrung or twisted. Squeeze water out.

Sweaters will not retain their
shape if put in a bag and hung
to dry. Pull and pat them into
shape being careful not to stretch
them. Spread on an old towel
to dry.

Lever Bros. Co., Cambridge, Mass.

Gentlemen:

Knitted garments can be washed as safely and as
satisfactorily as cotton if the proper methods are
used. The wrong methods will ruin them in the
very first laundering.

We are suggesting to women who buy our yarns
to wash them in Lux. A harsh soap would shrink
woolens.

The Lux flakes are so thin that they dissolve
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Rubbing cake soap on wool, or rubbing wool to
get the dirt out makes its scale-like fibres mat up
and shrink. We recommend Lux particularly be-
cause its thick lather eliminates rubbing of any sort.
The dirt dissolves in the suds and leaves the gar-
ment soft and unshrunken.

Our wool is so pure and so well spun that it will
remain soft and fluffy after repeated launderings,
provided the washing is done in this safe way.

We are glad to say that we can trust yarns of
the most delicate color and weight to Lux with the
assurance that the result of the washing will be
entirely satisfactory to our customers and to us.

Very truly yours,

S. B. 6c B. W. FLEISHER

Won't injure

anything pure water

alone won't harm

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

-jDo =JReu

Do - <Jt

Title Reg. U. S Pat OH.

' I 'HIS is YOUR Department. Jump right in with your contribution.
•* What have you seen, in the past month, that was stupid, unlife-
Uke, ridiculous or merely incongruous? Do not generalize; confine your
remarks to specific instances of absurdities in pictures you have seen.
Your observation will be listed among the indictments of carelessness on
the part of the actor, author or director.

Oh, Well, It's Customary

IN "Hearts Up," Mignon Golden goes to a French window,
opens it, and while listening to a conversation between
Harry Carey and a neighbor, neatly projects her nicely-rounded
elbow through the door where the glass ought to be. Why did
she open the door at all?

J. Ray Murray, Chicago, 111.

Too Much for Us

PERHAPS you can explain how the blind man in "The Man
Who Had Everything" — in the scene where Prue enters
his room — is seen reading a book. And it didn't have raised
letters, either. P. Samuels, East Orange, N. J.

Too Easy

IN "The Silver Lining," in the scene in which Jewel Carmen
takes a man's watch from his pocket, no one except the movie
actors showed any curiosity at all. It isn't done in real life.
Virginia Boebner, Brooklyn, N. V.

With Pleasure

WILL you kindly call the attention of producers and direc-
tors to such things as the following? Medical students
and a large proportion of the general public consider such mis-
takes laughable.

In "The Plaything of
Broadway," first: there
is an operation on a child
in a dirty tenement-
house room by a doctor
in his shirt sleeves. Sec-
ond, a stethoscope is ap-
plied to a patient with
all his street clothes on.
Third, the pulse is felt
in the middle of the wrist
by four fingers through
a kid glove.

Dr. R. M. Rogers,
Brooklyn, N. V.

Can You Blame the Post?

THERE were some
funny things in "The
Kid " that Charlie Chap-
lin didn't direct. For
instance, in the fight be-
tween Charlie and the
bully, the latter swings
at Chaplin, misses him,
and hits a lamp-post in-
stead. But the lamp-
post fell over an instant
before he hit it.

Edna Purviance, as
"The Kid's" mother,
leaves the hospital and

walks through a park, wearing low-heeled oxfords. A little
later as she stood on a parapet she wore pumps with high
French heels. In the next scene, as she hurried back to get
her baby, which she had left in a car, she again wore the low-
heeled oxfords. Is it customary for an actress to carry several
pairs of shoes about with her? L. M., Tenafly, N. J.

An Obliging Blizzard.

I should not mind being caught in a blizzard like that in
"Isobel".

In the scene in which House Peters and Jane Novak were in
the Arctic blizzard, I noticed, fifty feet behind them, a pine
tree that was not even quivering, while the trees they were
standing beneath were twisting furiously from the force of the
wind. The snow didn't even stick to their clothing, either.
John Perry, Jr., Rochester, Minn.

Some of Sydney's Subtle Humor?

In the fight in the banquet hall in Sydney Chaplin's comedy,
"King, Queen and Joker," one of the king's soldiers is shot.
He falls against a stained glass window which very considerately
bulges about a foot, just like a sheet of rubber, and snaps back
into place when he falls to the floor.

J. Edward Hawkins, Cary, N. C.

Page Henry Arthur Jones!

In "Whispering Devils," with Rosemary Theby and Con-
way Tearle, Mr. Tearle is introduced at the beginning of the
picture as the Rev. Michael Feversham, but later on one of the
titles reads: "I have heard enough, Mr. Faversham." No

wonder the devils whispered!

*TO*

A LITTLE NATURAL ACTING

In "The Country God Forgot," with Tom Santschi, when
the posse is hotly pursuing the fleeing villain, they are
shown looking at the place where the horse lay that had
supposedly been shot after breaking its leg, when that
animal calmly raises its head and surveys the scene!

A. A., Philadelphia, Pa.

Those Poetic Titles!

When Lon Chaney, in
"Nomads of the North,"
finds his pet bear cub
and dog, the scene is pre-
ceded by the subtitle,
"And then that day,
just as the sun was set-
ting— ". As a closeup
of the cub and dog is
shown, one can plainly
see by their shadows
that the sun is still high
in the sky.

Max C. K,
Rochester, N. Y.

A Star Overnight.

In"TheMidlanders,"
when Bessie Love went
to the city to be an
actress, there was a very
small boy in the family
she lived with. One
would think she must
have been gone a long
time, because she be-
comes a celebrated star
— but when she returns
the baby is still the same
size!
D. E. L., Sonoma, Cal.

It Should Have Been the Other Way Around.

One of the soldiers in "The Last of the Mohicans" is fighting
with an Indian. When the fight starts his hair was very white.
After the combat his hair was raven black !

Norman L., Taunton, Mass.

Helene Chadwick, Gold-
wyn star, whose beauti-
ful hair has helped her
to success

In your hair lies hidden charm

So says dainty Helene Chadwick
An interview bv Dorothv Davis

OUT of every hundred girls,
there may be one or two who
can qualify for moving pic-
tures, and they are the ones who have
learned that in a girl's hair lies her
biggest asset."

Miss Helene Chadwick was talking
on her favorite topic, for she is a
firm believer that it is possible for
even the plainest woman to have
more than usual attractiveness.
As she arranged her own lovelv, ra-
diant hair, I could see that it had been
one of the stepping-stones to her suc-
cess.

"In every woman's hair," she went
on, "there is extra charm, extra
beauty, which can be brought out by
a new, simple treatment — a hair-
dresser's discovery.
"This treatment is more than just
shampooing. For while shampooing
with the proper preparation does

make hair clean and soft — it can nev-
er end dandruff" — it can never bring
out all the hidden charms which
make women truly lovely."

The hairdressers' way
These simple directions will change
your whole appearance:
First: Wet the hair and scalp with
warm water.

Second: Applv Wildroot Liquid
Shampoo and rub to a rich, creamy
lather. Rinse with clear warm water.
Third: Apply more Wildroot Liquid
Shampoo, massaging lightlv, and
rinse three or four times. Dry thor-
oughly.

Fourth: Apply Wildroot Hair Tonic
to the roots of the hair, massaging
thoroughly with the finger tips.
Fifth: Moisten a sponge or cloth
with Wildroot Hair Tonic. Wipe
your hair, one strand at a time,

WILDROOT

Liquid Shampoo and Hair Tonic

from the roots clear to the ends. Dry
carefully.

Send two dimes for four

comp/ete treatments

Send in this coupon, with two dimes,
and we will send you enough Wild-
root Liquid Shampoo and Hair Ton-
ic to give you four complete treat-
ments.

Or you can get these Wildroot prod-
ucts at all drug and department
stores, barber, or hairdresser, with a
guarantee of absolute satisfaction or
money refunded. Wildroot Co., Inc.,
Buffalo, X. Y.

WILDROOT COMPANY, Inc.,

Dept P8,

BUFFALO.

I enclose two dimes. Please send
traveller's size bottles of Wildroot
Shampoo and Hair Tonic.

Me
L

your

iquid

A JJress

Druggist' 'i

Druggist's

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Proper Care

of Children's Hair

How to Keep it Beautiful,
Healthy and Luxuriant

THE beauty of your child's hair de-
pends upon the care you give it.
Shampooing it properly is always
the most important thing.

It is the shampooing which brings out
the real life and lustre, natural wave and
color, and makes their hair soft, fresh and
luxuriant.

When your child's hair is dry, dull and
heavy, lifeless, stiff and gummy, and the
strands cling together, and it feels harsh
and disagreeable to the touch, it is be-
cause the hair has not been shampooed
properly.

When the hair has been shampooed
properly, and is thoroughly clean, it will
be glossy, smooth and bright, delightfully
fresh-looking, soft and silky.

While children's hair must have fre-
quent and regular washing to keep it
beautiful, it cannot stand the harsh effect
of ordinary soap. The free alkali in
ordinary soap soon dries the scalp, makes
the hair brittle and ruins it.

That is why discriminating mothers
use Mulsified Cocoanut Oil Shampoo.
This clear, pure and entirely greaseless
product cannot possibly injure and it does
not dry the scalp, or make the hair brittle,
no matter how often you use it.

If you want to see how really beautiful
you can make your child's hair look, just

Follow This Simple Method
THIRST, wet the hair and scalp in clear,
warm water.

Then apply a little Mulsified Cocoanut
Oil Shampoo, rubbing it in thoroughly all
over the scalp and throughout the entire
length, down to the ends o£the hair.

Two or three teaspoonfuls will make an
abundance of rich, creamy lather. This

fresh, warm water. Then use another
application of Mulsified.

Two waters are usually sufficient for
washing the hair; but sometimes the third
is necessary. You can easily tell, for
when the hair is perfectly clean, it will be
soft and silky in the water, the strands
will fall apart easily, each separate hair
floating alone in the water, and the
entire mass, even while wet, will feel
loose, fluffy and light to the touch and
be so clean, it will fairly squeak when you
pull it through your fingers.

Rinse the Hair Thoroughly

' I "'HIS is very important. After the
-*■ final washing the hair and scalp
should be rinsed in at least two changes of
good warm water and followed with a
rinsing in cold water. When you have
rinsed the hair thoroughly, wring it as
dry as you can; and finish by rubbing it
with a towel, shaking it and fluffing
it until it is dry. Then give it a good
brushing.

After a Mulsified Shampoo, you will
find the hair will dry quickly and evenly
and have the appearance of being much
thicker and heavier than it is.

If you want your child to always be re-
membered for its beautiful, well-kept hair,
make it a rule to set a certain day each
week for a Mulsified Cocoanut Oil Sham-

poo. This regular weekly shampooing
will keep the scalp soft, and the hair fine
and silky, bright, fresh looking and fluffy,
wavy and easy to manage, and it will be
noticed and admired by everyone.

You can get Mulsified Cocoanut Oil
Shampoo at any drug store or toilet goods
counter.

A 4-ounce bottle should last for months.

should be rubbed in thoroughly and
briskly with the finger tips, so as to loosen
the dandruff and small particles of dust
and dirt that stick to the scalp.

When you have done this, rinse the
hair and scalp thoroughly, using clear,

Teach Your Boy to Shampoo
His Hair Regularly

Tmay be hard to get a boy to shampoo
his hair regularly, but it's mighty
important that he does so.

His hair and scalp should be kept

perfectly clean to insure a healthy,
vigorous scalp and a fine, thick, heavy
head of hair.

Get your boy in the habit of shampoo-
ing his hair regularly once each week. A
boy's hair being short, it will only take a
a few minutes' time. Simply moisten the

hair with warm water, pour on a
little Mulsified and rub it vigorously
with the tips of the fingers. This will
stimulate the scalp, make an abundance
of rich, creamy lather and cleanse the
hair thoroughly. It takes only a few
seconds to rinse it all out when he
is through.

You will be sur-
prised how this regular
weekly shampooing
with Mulsified will
improve the appear-
ance of his hair and
you will be teaching
your boy a habit he
will appreciate in after-
life, for a luxurious
head of hair is some-
thing every man feels
mighty proud of.

WATKINS

MllSIFIED

Oil SHAMPOO

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

LILY BELL.— One of the flowers that
bloom in the spring, tra la? Or per-
haps it's a little late for that, after all.
From the sweet sun that pours
through my window, it seems that summer
has arrived with all the trimmings. Oh
yes, I love the country. I have never been
in the country, but I love it. Grace Dar-
mond is not married, Lily Bell. Billie
Rhodes, the widow of Smiling Bill Parsons,
is now playing opposite Victor Potel in a
comedy called "The Stolen Umbrella,"
which I believe is from an Ellis Parker
Butler story.

Peggy S., Portland. — Ah, but Dante
did not marry his Beatrice. Both married,
but not each other. Dante married two
years after his ideal died, and had four chil-
dren ! It is said he only saw Beatrice three
or four times. Perhaps that was why he
loved her, say I cynically. Gaston Glass
has gone to California to play with Mary
Miles Minter in a new Realart picture.
When Mary completes her latest film she
will go abroad on a three months' vacation.
I wish I were a fillum star! I am sure I
work just as hard, but I am not beautiful,
so no European jaunts for me. (And they
never even send me a postcard !)

Betsy B. — Why, may I ask, do you wish
the personal address of John Pialoglo?
He is not an actor; he is a business man. I
am afraid you'll have to be satisfied with
Constance Talmadge's address, which is
the Talmadge studio, New York City.
Natalie married Buster Keaton Tuesday,
May 31, 1921.

G. B., Cedar Rapids, Iowa. — Is that
where all the cedar chests come from? You
didn't break a single rule, my dear. Which
proves that your letter was precise, but
uninteresting. Clyde Fillmore, Lasky,
Hollywood. Ann Forrest is not working in
the Cecil deMille company. She is still
with Paramount, but her latest appearances
are in the George Melford picture, "A
Wise Fool" and "The Great Impersona-
tion," in both of which she plays with
James Kirkwood.

Madeline. — Did you say I was very
sensible for my years, or very sensitive
about my years? Please set me right in
this matter. May McAvoy is now a

star, although she was only a leading woman
when you wrote. She was elevated to
stardom for her performance of Grizel in
"Sentimental Tommy." Her first stellar
vehicle for Realart is "Everything for
Sale. " May lives with her mother in Holly-
wood. She's a nice little girl and a fine
actress, I think. She's still Miss McAvoy.
Faire is Constance Binney's younger sister.

E. J. D., Chicago. — I have no record of
Jack Gilbert's appearance in a Fatty
Arbuckle comedy. However, I shall rattle
the probable skeleton and ask Mr. Gilbert
if — before he was a scenario writer, di-
rector and Fox star— he ever played in
Keystones, and let you know as soon as I
do.

School Girl, Fourteen. — I always say
what I think. Perhaps that explains why
I don't say much. Harrison Ford probably
left Lasky before your letter reached him,
but in that case it should have been for-
warded. Mr. Ford is now a member of the
Norma and Constance Talmadge com-
panies. Address him care Talmadge studio,
318 East Forty-Eighth Street, New York
City. He isn't married. Oh, joy!

M. I. S., Berwyn, III. — I understand a
great many letters addressed to film stars
are marked "personal," so I wouldn't
trouble to add it. Elliott Dexter, as far as
I know, has no secretary to answer his mail.
If you enclose twenty-five cents, he may
send you his photograph. Address him at
the Lasky studio. He plays in "Peter
Ibbetson" and "The Affairs of Anatol."
Marie Doro is Mrs. Dexter.

M. S. M., South Nor walk. — I hate to
disappoint you, but Fannie Ward wasn't
born in France; she's a native of St. Louis,
Mo. However, she and her husband,
Jack Dean, live in Paris. Doubt if you can
get in at the Griffith studio in Mamaroneck.
I can't help you any.

D. R., Detroit. — Billie Burke has left
Paramount and at this writing has not
joined any other film company. The report
is that she will star in pictures made by her
husband, Florenz Ziegfeld, but I don't
know how true it is. Marguerite Clark is in
Louisiana now. She came up to New York
to make one picture, "Scrambled Wives."

Gloria Swanson's eyes are blue. Lillian
Gish is not married. Dorothy Gish — Mrs.
Rennie — lives in New York City.

Grace and Alma. — So you live in a house
that goes back to George Washington.
Is that so? What's the matter with it?
Richard Barthelmess, Percy Marmont, and
Jerome Patrick were the three leading men
in "Three Men and a Girl." Corinne
Griffith was born in 1899; Betty Blythe, in
1893; and Priscilla Dean, in 1896. If these
three ladies — all of whom I particularly
admire — were not so young, they would
doubtless cherish resentment against me
forever. As it is, they will probably never
send me those photographs they all prom-
ised me sometime ago.

G. J., Akron, O. — Wonderful, wonderful!
After much thought you have come to
the conclusion that George and Raoul
Walsh are brothers. Right, Sherlocko!
Mrs. Raoul Walsh is Miriam Cooper, who
is featured in her husband's productions,
"The Oath" and "Serenade." Brother
George plays in the latter film.

C. C, Texas. — Bebe Daniels is not mar-
ried. She is quoted as remarking that
no one will have her now that she has served
a term in jail. It was for speeding, as I
suppose you have read. Bebe was only in
for ten days, but that was ten days too
many, according to Bebe. Did you read
her own story of her trial, in July Photo-
play? It's Bebe's real name.

Nita. — Here is the cast of "A Daughter
of Two Worlds": Jenny Malone — Norma
Talmadge; Kenneth Harrison — Jack Crosby;
Sue Harrison — Virginia Lee; Slim Harrison
■ — Wm. Shea; Black Jerry Malone — Frank
Sheridan; Sam Conway — Joe Smiley; Harry
Edwards — Gilbert Rooney; Sergeant Casey
— Charles Satterley; John Harrison — E. J.
Radcliffe; Mrs. Harrison — Winifred Harris.
Quite a family, the Harrisons.

Mrs. R. A. K., South Hill, Va.— The
easiest question I've answered: who was
the girl who played with Charlie Chaplin in
"A Dog's Life"? Edna Purviance: the
same young lady who has played with
Charlie in every one of his comedies since
the early Keystone days. The newest
Chaplin is called "Vanity Fair." Norma

Talmadge is Mrs. Joseph Schenck. Mr.
Schenck is "in pictures" to the extent of
managing the business end of the Talmadge
productions; but that's all.

Esther, Nashville. — I wish all my
correspondents were like you. Your letter
was charming, and I am sure you are, too.
You needn't worry that you'd be disil-
lusioned about Lillian Gish when you met
her. She is just as delightful as she seems,
and then some. I shall certainly say hello
to her for you. Miss Gish always says that
her ambition is to please you children.
Tell your mother all these movie stars aren't
nearly as bad as she thinks them. I know
lots of them and they are regular human
beings. That is the Gish girls' real name.
Please write to me often.

Peggy Willits, Cal. — Peggy is the most
popular nom de plume this month. So
Constance Talmadge and Blanche Sweet
never answered your letters. Perhaps they
were on their vacations. Seriously, Miss
Sweet has been quite ill; she has only re-
cently recovered, and is not making any
pictures now.

D. P. L., Indiana. — Your state of mind
is the state of won't mind. Why don't
you read the rules — and follow them? Only
one of your five questions I am permitted
to answer: that I can't give you a pass to
visit the Pickford-Fairbanks home in
Beverly Hills. It isn't a museum, you know;
it's a private house. Try again.

E. J. O., Washington. — I am very glad
to forward your letter to Miss Agnes Ayres.
In fact, I am just about to the point where
I may write Miss Ayres a fan letter myself.
She came east, you know, to make "Cappy
Ricks," with Tom Meighan, and I met
her, and — well, I hope she comes again.
Mr. Meighan visited Photoplay's offices
while he was in town and nobody did any
work for the rest of the day. He's a fine
chap — I like him. So does everybody.

Ernestine. — Crane Wilbur and Martha
Mansfield are appearing together in a
vaudeville sketch in the small towns near
New York. Martha is still a Selznick star.
Wilbur was in "The Heart of Maryland."
Miss Mansfield is four inches over five feet
tall and Clara Kimball Young, whose new
picture is "Charge It," is two inches taller.
Very compact little answer, that. (You
see I have to hand myself roses; nobody
else will do it.)

L. B. B., Wisconsin. — You say you have
been told that you would be a heartbreaker
in the movies on account of your eyes, and
ask, " Is that what you want in the movies? "
It's what / want, but unfortunately I am
not a film producer. I cannot help you to
become a screen star, and neither, if I am
not much mistaken, can Mr. and Mrs.
Richard Barthelmess. However, you might
write to them anyway. Mary Hay was
born in Fort Bliss, Texas.

Little Billy. — You are, as the saying
goes, out of luck. Gloria Fonda was with
Universal several years ago, but has since
retired from the screen. However, she may
see this and decide to come back. (I
wouldn't count on it.)

Kitty.— Yes, my child, the newspaper
clipping was right. It took you some time
to read it, I should say. But it's entirely
true that Dorothy Gish married James
Rennie and Constance Talmadge became
Mrs. John Pialoglo at a double wedding
ceremony performed in Greenwich, Conn.
Of course, I don't wonder that you were

Questions and Answers

(Continued)

skeptical; it was only printed in several
hundred papers, and there was only one
story about it in this Magazine and I have
only answered 957 questions about it.

Adelaide D.r Wales. — Charming letter
you write. But you didn't ask any question,
so how can I answer you? Just like this —
and nothing more. Call again soon.

Fantasie Impromptu

By
AGNES SMITH

THE scene is a Fifth Avenue
bus, in New York City. The
speaker is a lady clothed in
sables. The two listeners are
ladies dressed in mink and seal.
The author described, briefly, the
costumes of the ladies to warn you
that you are travelling in the best
society.

The lady in sable speaks: "Yes,
it's a shame that Alice allows him to
make her life so miserable. The en-
tire household is ordered to suit
him; the servants are absolutely
governed by him. He is worrying
Alice to death and it's a great pity.
Of course, she is making a mistake
in allowing him to have so many
nights out. The man is simply
going to the dogs. He has spent
four hundred dollars at a dramatic
school and he mourns because he is
not in the movies. And it is a
shame, because he is such a won-
derful butler."

Another tragedy, for which the
movies are to blame.

Peggy McL., San Antonio. — I'm afraid
there wouldn't be time for you to dash up
to New York before Wally Reid goes. You
see, he is only in Manhattan for a month.
You had better plan to go on to California,
where, if luck is with you, you may catch a
glimpse of a streak of red in a cloud of
dust. Wally will be in it. His chief ambi-
tion is said to be to own all the red automo-
biles in the world. I should say he was near
realizing that ambition. His latest char-
acterizations are "Anatol" in "The Affairs
of Anatol" and "Peter Ibbetson," in the
production of that name.

E. P. J., Wisconsin. — You say you have
seen my face before. That wouldn't sur-
prise me — it wasn't the first time I'd used
it, you know. But I would ask you how
you knew it was me? Or how you knew it
was I? Take your choice. True, I used to
live and work in Chicago, but then, so did
many other men, several of whom may have
been handsomer than I. Elaine Hammer-
stein is not married. She's with Selznick
and may be addressed at that studio, in
Fort Lee. Don't mention it, Earle.

G. V., San Francisco. — I can see that
you have not been a film enthusiast long,
or you would know that Viola Dana and
Shirley Mason are sisters. They have
another sister, Edna Flugrath, who is in
pictures abroad.

Ieene. — All together now: Eugene
O'Brien is not married. His new picture
is called "The Last Door" or words to
that effect. We seem to be having an
epidemic of exit and entry titles lately, be-
ginning with Mary's "Through the Back
Door." Frances Marion's new picture
which she adapted and directed is called
"Just Around the Corner." I shall pro-
duce one called "Hanging Out the Win-
dow." It's so hot today, Irene!

F. F., Ottawa. — Now that Pearl White
is said to have gone to Paris for the express
purpose of divorcing Wallace McCutcheon,
I suppose there can't be any possible ob-
jection to my telling you folks that she is
married. You want a picture of Douglas
McLean and Doris May on Photoplay's
cover. But they are no longer playing
together; and besides, Wallace Mac Donald
mightn't like it. He's Doris' new husband,
you know. Miss May has never been mar-
ried before; neither has Wallace MacDon-
ald.

R. M. C, Denver. — Now, now, don't
get excited. You may like my department,
but I don't insist that you be "just terribly
interested" in it. Corinne Griffith is mar-
ried to Webster Campbell, who has been
directing her. In Vitagraph pictures.

Marie. — You want to know if Enid
Bennett is married or divorced, etc. She is
married, and very happily, to Fred Niblo,
who is directing Douglas Fairbanks in
"The Three Musketeers." Mrs. Niblo has
retired into private life to await an inter-
esting event, I hear. Eddie Polo and
Thelma Percy in "The Vanishing Dagger."
Polo is forty, and married.

Irene E. C, Dover. — "While New York
Sleeps, " like a gloomy day, seems over-
cast to me when I have to give all the
characters who played in it. Otherwise
it bears absolutely no resemblance to a
gloomy day or any kind of a day. Al-
though, of course, some New Yorkers do
sleep in the daytime, but not so many.
Here goes: Act I: "Out of the Night":
A Wife — Estelle Taylor; Her Husband —
William Locke; A Strange Visitor — Marc
McDermott; A Burglar — Harry Southern.
Act 2: "The Gay White Way": The
Vamp — Estelle Taylor; The Man — Marc
McDermott; The — er — Friend — Harry
Sothern. Act 3: "A Tragedy of the East
Side": The Paralytic — Marc McDermott;
His Son — Harry Sothern; The Girl — Estelle
Taylor; The Gangster — Earle Metcalfe.
Would you mind asking for a program next
time? Thank you.

G. K., N. C. — You win the embroidered
doughnut. Rudolph Cameron did play with
Anita Stewart in "Clover's Rebellion," for
Vitagraph, several years ago. He has not
done any picture work since he married
Miss Stewart, however. Anita was born in
Brooklyn in 1897, has been on the screen
since 1912 and married Mr. Cameron in
1917. They spend their winters in Cali-
fornia and their summers in Bayside, L. I.

Rhoda. — No, no, Doraldina is not one of
the Fulgrath sisters. In other words, she's
not of the family which produced Viola
Dana and Shirley Mason. She made only
one picture for Metro, "Passion Fruit."
(Continued on page 110)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Posed by Virginia Lee in "If
Women Only Knew " — a First
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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

8o Photoplay Magazine

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Advertising Section

Announcing Marriage Contest
Priz,e Winners

IN the March issue of Photoplay
Magazine appeared an article writ-
ten by Madame Elinor Glyn in which
she raised the interesting question:
"Marriage is good, and art is good — but
do they assimilate to perfection?"

In the April issue, the most notable
artists of the screen gave their views on
the subject, and the readers of this Mag-
azine were asked to contribute their
opinions in competition, in letters not to
exceed 300 words, with an award of $50.00
for the best letter; $25.00 for the second
best; and for the third best, $10.00. The
contest closed May 1, 1921.

The three prize-winning letters follow:

First Prize Letter ($50.00)

Herbert W. Cornell. 3405 Chest-
nut Street, Milwaukee, Wis-
consin.

Second Prize Letter ($25.00)

Miss Margaret Germaine, 821
Fourth Avenue, Peoria, Illinois.

Third Prize Letter ($10.00)

Elizabeth Caney, 64 First Street.
Waterford, New York.

First Prize $50

MARRIAGE is the oldest of human in-
stitutions; art is the oldest form of
human expression. Both exercised their
profound influence on the development of
the human race long before any alphabet
was invented, any permanent building con-
structed, any religious faith developed or
any knowledge of the natural sciences
acquired. The two have been with us from
before the dawn of history to this day.
Hence, to say that they do not naturally go
together, or that they are mutually exclu-
sive, is to say that the fundamental nature
of art has changed, or the fundamental
nature of marriage has changed. Is this
so? Are essential conditions of human
society any different today than in the days
when sculpture reached its pinnacle of
development in Greece or painting achieved
its greatest glory in Florence? Our material
surroundings may be different, we may use
a thousand inventions which belong to this
age alone, our outlook may embrace the

world instead of a small community, but
human nature remains human nature.

Andrea del Sarto became the "perfect
painter" because his wife posed for him and
encouraged him in his work. Many an
obscure and unknown aspirant of today will
live in history for a similar reason. The
crude, stolid mind can see nothing beyond
the commonplace in the marriage relation;
it means washing dishes and sweeping
floors, the soul-depressing details of hum-
drum existence. But no one with the soul
of an artist will have his imagination held
down to this level. Even as the noblest
poetry is that which is the most simple in
expression, so the simple tasks and unevent-
ful but delightful companionship of mar-
riage will furnish the greatest incentive to
true self-expression.

Herbert W. Cornell,
3405 Chestnut Street, _
Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

Second Prize $25

ELINOR GLYN is a bit of a cynic, I fear.
Doesn't she intimate that there is no
grand passion — that it is fleeting, paltry;
or does she believe that, experienced by the
artist, it should be slain on schedule time
to permit of "a change of partners" and the
variety of experience necessary to the
development of the artistic temperament?
And does not the lady fail to appreciate
that the American, young in spirit, needs
every help which convention can lend him
to keep impulse within bounds, while the
born-old European goes gunning for
emotions?

From a long experience as a business
woman, I claim a fair knowledge of just
everyday man-and-woman nature. Busi-
ness people and screen people seem very
much alike to me; and, on an average, sane
and decent.

Sentiment aside, we are a law-abiding
people as a whole. Temperament is real
and must at times be considered, but it is
not confined to artists. One meets it in
business, manifested often in admirable
ways; but it frequently explains lawlessness
in business men and women as it does in
artists: explains, not justifies. Tempera-
mental children we called "spoiled."

Those who proclaim marriage a failure as
an institution may be right — examples of
failure are plentiful. But that marriage is
a failure for the artist because he is an artist
is — piffle! Just so well might the artist be
exempt from all other regulations that dis-
tinguish us from the savage, who is free
from "ties that prevent experience."
Margaret Germaine,
821 Fourth Avenue,

Peoria, Illinois.

Third Prize $10

IT is as natural for people to marry as it
is for them to breathe; and artists are
people, the height of their art depending
only upon the quality of their loving and
their willingness to work, for what is art but
understanding, and who shall find under-
standing without love? The greater the
love the greater the art. Before art was
thought of as such, marriage was a flourish-
ing institution, and all the arts come back

to it for sustenance. The trouble is not so
much with marriage as with the attitude of
those entering into it. When marriage fills
its place as a sacrament, it is a boon to art
of every kind, but when it is a mere con-
tract entered into with scarcely as much
consideration as the purchase of a pair of
shoes — at least we aim to have these fit —
what can one expect of it?
So let the artist marry, provided he can

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Marriage Contest Priz,e

Winners

(Concluded)

say, "For better or for worse," and mean it.
Then whether it be for better or for worse,
so long as they keep the honor of the pact,
art reaps the benefit. But oh, I beg of you
artists and all the rest, if you intend to
marry "just for the experience," with the
divorce court fading in even as the wedding
procession fades out, for art's sake and for
the sake of the world in general — don't.
Elizabeth Caney,
64 First Street,
Waterford, New York.

And the Moral of
This Is —

FRANKIE DUGAN of Williamsburg
went west and grew up, not with the
country, but with the film business.
He emerged temporarily last winter,
returning to the east as Francis Duganne,
the prominent leading man. Frankie-
Francis took his good looks, his excellent
clothes and one of his motors across the
Williamsburg bridge, and into the part of
Brooklyn which had known him as a
freckle-faced boy with a sunny disposition
and one pair of very veteran trousers. He
found few whom he knew, though many
who recognized him — not as an old resident,
but as a screen celebrity.

Not even Mrs. Mahoney, whose kids he
had licked, and who in turn had licked him;
whose bread and butter he had eaten and
whose dog he had tin-canned — not even
Mrs. Mahoney knew him. But she was
very glad to see him, and wept a little, and
laughed a little, and immediately began to
recall happenings of other years, as is the
way with all old women everywhere.

But there were so few of Frankie's old
gang left. Mrs. Mahoney's boys were all
afar, and moderately successful, as she
noted with timid pride to one who had
evidently made a very great success in life.

"Do ye remember little Timmie Flan-
nerty?" asked Mrs. Mahoney, in a sudden
brightening of interest.

"Surely!" exclaimed Frankie. "He's the
lad who wouldn't stay in school. I've often
wondered what happened to him. Did he
ever learn anything, in any way?"

"I'll say he did!" returned Mrs. Mahoney,
without meaning to be slangy. "He got a
contract hauling brick across East River,
and then he got a barge, and then another
barge, and a year ago he was controllin' all
the contractors' barges on both East and
North rivers. He'd made a million dollars,
though he couldn't read or write."

"I'll declare!" exclaimed Frankie, gen-
uinely impressed.

"And then, late last summer," continued
Mrs. Mahoney, "he bought one of them
private yachts, an' took his friends fer a
crooze — or what may ye call it? It was a
hot day, and the boys on the deck took off
their clothes, and jumped into the water.
Timmie, to be outdone by none, jumped in
too, but he had got fat and soft, and he
went down like one of the bricks he'd been
carrying all his life . . . and he didn't
come up no more . . ."

"Lord, that's unfortunate!" sighed
Frankie. "Poor fellow, just in the prime
of life, too. He'd made a million, and he'd
never learned to read nor write."

"Nor swim!" concluded Mrs. Mahoney,
grimly.

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The Shadow Stage

{Continued from page 58)

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construction is, technically speaking, supe-
rior to other foreign films recently released
in this country, especially as regards pho-
tography. Yet it is doubtful that the
American public will take kindly to "J'Ac-
cuse." Its story trails uncertainly through
a vast maze of war material, frequently be-
ing lost entirely to view, reappearing at
intervals, to fade away again before the
onrush of armies in combat. The tragedy
of "J'Accuse" is not alone of plot. There
is the tragedy of untimeliness. It is four
years too late.

THE SCARAB RING— Vitagraph

MURDER mysteries apparently are
popular this month. Vitagraph pre-
sents Alice Joyce in an interesting photo-
play of this type, and defies your talents as
an amateur detective to discover just who
fired the fatal shot. Whatever your at-
tempts to solve the puzzle, the ending will
surprise you. And who doesn't like sur-
prises— and Alice?

GET YOUR MAN— Fox

THIS is one of the best western pictures
that we have seen in many months. The
story opens in the coal mines of Scotland
and is completed amid the snowy peaks of
the Canadian northwest. There is enough
material for two or three ordinary westerns
but an unusually well-told story precludes
any possibility of the action seeming over-
crowded. Buck Jones is excellent as a
member of the Northwest Mounted Police.

THE TEN-DOLLAR RAISE—
Associated Producers

WE like the masculinity of Peter B.
Kyne's stories. He writes of life
intelligently, convincingly and with a deft
sureness that gives strength and vigor to
his plots. And because of these things,
and because he has placed in this picture a
flash of adventure that is not illogical, and
an appealing human-ness that does not
border upon weak sentimentality, we en-
joyed it very much. We believe that you
will, also.

CHEATED LOVE— Universal

A DECIDED improvement upon any-
thing Carmel Myers has done recently,
despite the title. The subject deals with
life in the New York Ghetto, a very real
love story is woven into the plot, and though
the latter part of the picture becomes some-
what trite, interest is maintained through
consistent direction.

APPEAR ANCES— British- Paramount

WERE it not for interesting glimpses of
English countryside, London streets
and tea-shops, and an honest-to-goodness
castle, we'd vote this an indifferent offering
from the British studios. The background
of the picture, which was new, interested
us. The foreground, which was old, did not.
David Powell and Mary Glynne in the
leading roles. Edward Knoblock is credited
with the story.

THE GUIDE— Fox

CLYDE COOK goes comedy-hunting in
the Alps. Also, his trained horse
doubles for an elk, antlers and all. We
haven't seen a better combination recently.
Two reels of laughter threaded with amus-
ing titles. A comedy deserving the name.

THE LAST CARD— Metro

WHEN a jealous husband kills his wife's
admirer with an axe and succeeds in
throwing the blame upon an innocent man,
things are bound to happen. If murder
mysteries of this sort find favor with you,
this film will prove fairly interesting. Even,
you may ignore its faulty production. May
Allison is featured, but Frank Elliott as the
criminal gives the outstanding performance
of the picture. From the Maxwell Smith
story, "Dated."

CLOSED DOORS— Vitagraph

THIS picture does not register above the
ordinary. There is the middle-aged
business man, whose young wife, Alice
Calhoun, delights in driving aimlessly
around the countryside with a casual ac-
quaintance— a wolf in sheep's clothing,
of course. The usual things happen in the
usual way. Miss Calhoun is pleasing, but
has had better vehicles than this one.

COLORADO PLUCK— Fox

HERE we have William Russell portray-
ing the role of a rough westerner who
invades the portals of High English Society
(as conceived by the Fox scenario staff), wins
the daughter of an hundred earls and takes
her back to good old Colorado where, de-
spite much evidence to the contrary, she
shows herself to be True Gold. Just a
motion picture.

THE WALLOP— Universal

WRITERS of western photo plays
usually choose their villain from one
of three varieties. He may be Mexican, he
may be a sheriff, or he may be the dance
hall owner. Harry Carey, however, pro-
vides all three varieties in his latest offer-
ing. There is an exciting battle on the cliffs
and a hanging at sunrise. Our hero comes
off both conqueror and vanquished in an
unusual ending, but is always, and pleas-
ingly, himself.

LAVENDER AND OLD LACE—
Hodkinson

IN an almost Griffith-like manner, Lloyd
Ingraham has placed this gentle little
story of Myrtle Reed's upon the screen.
Frail and delicate as rare lace, it could
easily have been ruined through careless
handling, but its thoughtful presentation
gives it a quiet charm. Marguerite Snow,
Seena Owen and Louis Bennison head an
excellent cast.

BEYOND PRICE— Fox

PEARL WHITE rivals that western Fox
star, Tom Mix, in furnishing excite-
ment throughout this decidedly lively mo-
tion picture. It's a series of amusing
predicaments, rather than a connected
story, but Miss White's loyal followers will
undoubtedly enjoy it.

KEEPING UP WITH LIZZIE—
Hodkinson

MILDLY pleasing picture, though
hardly containing the material neces-
sary to a successful photoplay of the pres-
ent day. The lack is not alone of suspense,
but of sustained interest. It simply ram-
bles along, in narrative style, to its obvious
conclusion. From the story by Irving
Batcheller.

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Shadow Stage

(Concluded)
BIG TOWN IDEAS— Fox

IT is possible that this picture might have
some slight amusement value, were it
not for the coarse, vulgar titling through-
out. According to Fox publicity, it is the
story of a girl who "shook a lively flap-jack
turner. " If this intrigues your interest, the
picture may please you. It did not please
us.

THE MAN TAMER— Universal

GLADYS WALTON, in this circus story,
does some very daring work with snarl-
ing lions, and then, as the title indicates,
turns her attention to training a young man
in the way he should go. Miss Walton has
some real material to work with, and we
venture that this will prove one of her best
liked pictures so far. See it.

THE HIGH ROAD—

Non'theatrical Distribution

THIS three-reel picture was made for the
Bureau of Social Education and the
Woman's Foundation for Health. It is a
narrative expounding a new constructive
health program and is of especial interest
to Y. W. C. A. organizations and Women's
Clubs.

THE SILVER CAR— Vitagraph

DUELS, intrigues, exiled dukes, secret
treaties, more than fill the life of
Earle Williams, who in the role of an adven-
turer with a price on his head, invades one
of those fancied kingdoms bordering vaguely
on "the Balkans." Earle has quite a
strenuous time, and is forced, at the ending,
to leave things in rather a tangle, though
that may have been the fault of the scenario
writer. It's a lively picture certainly.
From the story by Wyndham Martyn,
"The Secret of the Silver Car."

A RIDING ROMEO— Fox

EVERYONE knows the ability of Tom
Mix as a horseman. But in his latest
western, which by the way, he wrote for
himself, he reveals marked prowess upon
the bicycle, and talent as a comedian that
should not be overlooked in his future
photoplays. The story does not suffer
through this innovation, however. It will
appeal to all who enjoy western films,
whether they take them seriously or not.

Plays and Players

(Continued from page 67)

IF you remember Florence Lawrence and
Mary Fuller, Maurice Costello and Ar-
thur Johnson — you must remember Ethel
Grandin.

She was a popular starette in those early
days, and her last appearance was opposite
M. Costello in a serial called "The Crimson
Stain Mystery." And now — a little belated,
but nevertheless, now — she returns to film
activity in a production called "The
Hunch."

FLORENCE VIDOR is now a star.
This announcement is not guaranteed
to cause a sensation in film or fan circles, in-
asmuch as Mrs. Vidor has been a star in
popularity, if not in billing, for some time.
She will not work under her husband's
direction, but her pictures will be made in
his studio, which sounds as if it might mean
the same thing.

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Plays and Players

(Continued)

WE are given to understand that Eric
von Stroheim's masterpiece, "Blind
Wives," is completed.

We hesitate to believe such news. We had
decided that "Blind Wives" was one of
those things like the
babbling brook — that
go on and on forever.

It is rumored that
Mr. von Stroheim
has purchased his
ticket for Germany,
where he will con-
tinue to make pic-
tures.

He will sail before
"Blind Wives" is re-
leased, such of it, that
is, as can get by the
censors.

The picture is said
to be magnificent, in
scenery, daring,
nerve, and several
other things.

It certainly cost
enough — somewhere
very close to the mil-
lion mark; and took
long enough — a little
over a year — to pro-
duce great results.

But it is possible
that von Stroheim's
methods of directing
are in some measure
responsible for the
length of time.

For instance, at
Del Monte, where
the best hours for
shooting were from
eight in the morning
until two in the after-
noon, and where von
Stroheim had an
enormous company
living at the fashion-
able— -and costly —
Del Monte Hotel, the
director would give
an eight o'clock call
and then stroll down
himself about 12 or
12.30.

Night sequences,
with a call for nine
o'clock to the com-
pany, would find von
Stroheim strolling in
about eleven thirty.

The funniest
episode in connection
with the picture — if
it happens to be true,
and it is being told
by people who claim
to be eye witnesses — took place in Del
Monte. Von Stroheim lost his directorial
temper one afternoon to the extent of
"cussing," with unnecessary violence, the
electricians and carpenters working on the
set.

At noon, said electricians and carpenters
held an indignation meeting, after which
they sent a message to Mr. Eric von
Stroheim to the effect that there was a
train leaving for Los Angeles at 5.10 — that
unless he apologized for the various names
he had seen fit to call them, they would be
on that train — and that they were members
of the electrician and carpenters' unions — or
something like that — and he'd have a darn
hard time getting others when he got back
anyway.

Von Stroheim came. And he apologized.

If anyone but Norma Talmadge were
wearing this fish dress we would be
facetious about it. It s called the
deep sea gown because it is made
of shaded blue and green nsn scale
sequins overlapping with sapphire tulle
at the sides. We don t know what
all that means; we only hope Norma
will wear it in one of her pictures.

Expense might also have been spared in
instances such as this — the director ordered
a balcony scene, the balcony to be set with
expensive and exotic palms and plants in
costly jars. Arriving to view the scene at
eleven something,
von Stroheim decided
he didn't like the
palm and plants and
kicked them all off
the balcony. At so
much per kick, as it
were.

IF you live in New
York and had five
dollars, you probably
were there. But if
you don't, or hadn't,
you'll want to hear
about the Famous
Players-Lasky ball.

The Commodore
Hotel was the scene,
and as many stars,
directors, executives,
newspaper writers
and fans as had even-
ing clothes, the afore-
mentioned five dol-
lars, and sufficient
strength pushed their
way in. Wallace Reid
was there, and played
the saxaphone, but
didn't dance. Every-
body was sorry — that
he didn't dance, of
course. Wally led
the grand march with
Elsie Ferguson, fol-
lowed by Tommie
Meighan with Agnes
Ayres. Miss Fergu-
son was gowned as
beautifully as usual,
and Miss Ayres was
a vision in her Lucile
creation. Jeanie
McPherson post-
poned her departure
for California to at-
tend, and Jesse Lasky
dropped in before the
evening was over.
George Fitzmaurice
was there.

There was a studio
playlet in which Con-
stance Binney played
the shero, Reginald
Denny the hero, and
Wally Reid the Cam-
eraman.

Fischer's orchestra
furnished the music
until midnight, when
they had to leave to play at the Midnight
Frolic. If Famous Players had given the
ball two weeks later, the orchestra might
have played till morning. The Frolic, in
case you haven't heard, is now a thing of
the past. Prohibition did it.

OST and Found:

Louise Huff, who has been absent
from the studios since she became Mrs.
Edgar Stillman, has gone back to work a?
George Arliss' leading woman in "Dis-
raeli." Marguerite Snow — Mrs. Jimmit
Cruze, you know — returns to film activity
in "Lavender and Old Lace. ' Dorothy
Bernard is available to Broadway audiences
from two to five and from eight to eleven in
a new play called "Personality," which fea-
tures Alice Brady's husband, James Crane.

Every advertisement in PnOTOn.AY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)

THERE was a time when the mere
thought of performing in a motion pic-
ture theater would have sent celebrated
artists of the piano, the voice, and the violin
into hysterics.

But just the other day, Percy Grainger, a
pianist of real renown, ended a week's en-
gagement at the Capitol Theater in New
York City, as a featured part of the pro-
gram. Then Sascha Jacobsen, the violinist,
played a week in the temple of motion pic-
tures on Broadway.

It was S. L. Rothapfel's idea. And if he
keeps it up, he will earn the right to drop a
letter from his last name. He spells it
Rothafel now.

PARAMOUNT has shut down its huge
new eastern studio and all the producing
units will be transferred to the west coast.

Two weeks' notice was served the em-
ployees the latter part of May that the
Long Island City plant, which has only
been in operation about six months, will
close until next January.

Why?

Jesse Lasky says the transfer was made
in the interests of economy, not to cut down
production. The eastern studio will be
opened again when the rainy season sets in
in Los Angeles.

Between five and six hundred employees
of various departments have been let out.
The enormous expense of electricity, or
overhead, will be eliminated, and the pro-
duction of Paramount pictures will be car-
ried on in California, London, and possibly
Germany, where Zukor recently acquired a
studio near Berlin.

"Peter Ibbetson", directed by Fitz-
maurice, was the last large production to be
completed in the east. Among the stars
who will probably travel westward are
Elsie Ferguson, Thomas Meighan, who has
always alternated between the eastern and
western studios, director Fitzmaurice, and
the Realart luminaries, Alice Brady and
Constance Binney.

This leaves only a few important picture
factories in the east. International and
Fox, in Manhattan, are the largest of these.
Then there are the Selznick studio in Fort
Lee, which are not doing much; the Tal-
madge studio in New York City, and the
Griffith studio in Mamaroneck.

KIPLING is said to have triumphed over
the censors.

In spite of the fact that Pathe had to
throw a sop to them, by marrying the In-
dian girl and the Englishman in their pic-
turization of "Without Benefit of Clergy" —
and that they couldn't, and didn't change
the title to correspond with the purification
of the theme — the completed production is
declared by those who have seen it to be a
masterpiece.

But they really should have inserted a
caption at the beginning to explain that the
title of the drama was merely Mr. Kipling's
little joke.

IF Betty Blythe does not do "Mary, Queen
of Scots," the screen will be deprived of
an interesting characterization. From
present indications Miss Blythe will not be
able to play the part because of certain con-
tract difficulties.

The John Drinkwater play "Mary
Stuart," which was an artistic success and
financial failure of the late season in New-
York, had for its heroine Clare Eames, an
unusually fine actress who unfortunately
lacked the physical appeal necessary to
make the Queen an outstanding character.

The same could hardly be said of Miss
Blythe.

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Plays and Players

(Continued)

MAY McAVOY, between her new pic-
tures as a Realart luminary, will
play "The Little Minister" under the direc-
tion of William deMille. Which leads us
somehow to the absorbing question: will she
play "Peter Pan?".

John Robertson, who directed "Senti-
mental Tommy" to the eminent satisfac-
tion of all concerned, including even the
author himself, is now in England talking
over the production of "Peter Pan" with
Sir James. Probably Barrie will have some-
thing to say about the selection of the actor
or actress for the role. He is said to prefer
a boy. But as he professed himself pleased
with May McAvoy's work as Grizel: he may
have no objection to her doing Peter. We
wouldn't.

THE S. Rankin Drew Post of the Amer-
ican Legion staged a big benefit at the
New York Hippodrome, in which several of
the bright lights of celluloidia participated.

Betty Blythe, "The Queen of Sheba,"
who crossed the desert to visit Manhattan,
was much applauded for her lovely voice —
among other things.

Dorothy Gish, assisted by her handsome
young husband, James Rennie, and Arthur
Rankin, of the Rankin-Drew Clan, pre-
sented a very clever pantomime. It was
Dorothy's first stage appearance in years.
Dorothy has successfully dodged theatrical
managers for some time but it is doubtful if
she'll get away with it after her success in
her sketch.

David Griffith directed [Frank Bacon
(Broadway's most beloved star, who has
played in "Lightning," in the same theater
for three years) in a motion picture scene.

Mae Murray, wife of Bob Leonard, and
Wallace McCutcheon, who married Pearl
White — danced.

All in all, it was a large evening.

FEW kings have been feted by eastern
America as has "The Kid."

The little five-year-old child who made
one of the greatest personal hits in film his-
tory, in Charlie Chaplin's classic comedy,
came to New York with his parents in the
spring. Not only did he meet the Mayor
and Babe Ruth, but he was entertained by
society.

Jackie Coogan was the principal guest at
a luncheon given by the Princess Braganza,
and afterward was the chief spectator at a
special showing of "The Kid," for charity,
at the Plaza Hotel.

Prince Miguel de Braganza is just a kid
himself, so he and Jackie had a good time at
the luncheon given by the Princess' mother.
After the performance of the picture in
which he is a co-star, Jackie was introduced
to many important Manhattanites.

A few days later, when his presence was
requested at another luncheon given by a
prominent New Yorker, Jackie could not be
induced to leave until he had sent a message
of love and sympathy to his idol, Charlie
Chaplin, who had been slightly burned dur-
ing the making of some scenes for "Vanity
Fair."

Let's hope social success doesn't spoil The
Kid!

IN London, according to cabled report,
Pearl White has completely captivated
the representatives of the press. One re-
porter is said to have interviewed her when
she was wearing a crepe negligee, red slip-
pers, and no stockings to speak of. The
interview he wrote is one of the most favor-
able Miss White ever received.

In Paris an eager populace followed her
about the streets on her picture-making
missions. She is shooting scenes over there
for her new picture.

EVERYONE else who has sailed from film
fields for the Old World has taken care
to let the New World know it. Not so
Carol Dempster. This young lady kept up
her reputation for diffidence and went
abroad with Albert Grey — D. W. Griffith's
brother — and his wife, without telling any-
one about it at all.

Miss Dempster is a rather quiet young
person, with few intimates, they say. She is
talented in a number of ways: a pianist of
more than ordinary ability, a dancer, an
accomplished swimmer, and a writer. She
is said to want to write more than anything
else.

Some of the unkind critics see no reason
why she should not pursue a literary career.
But then, perhaps they're prejudiced.

LOWELL SHERMAN has gone to Cali-
fornia to become a member of the Mack
Sennett forces.

We thought at first it must be a mistake
until we remembered — no, not Mr. Sher-
man's work in "Way Down East" — but the
fact that M. Sennett is forsaking the slap-
sticks to indulge in comedy-drama. If Mr.
Sherman has indeed joined the Sennett
company he will be a colleague of Ben Tur-
pin, recently elevated to stardom on the
strength of his optic ability.

MAE MARSH is in New York.
Yes— Mae Marsh, the Little Sister
of "The Birth of a Nation."

Because Mae Marsh is getting back some
of her old-time wistful charm. She has also
lost much unnecessary weight. To speak
thus is neither feline nor fanciful, because
Miss Marsh herself admits that she was, if
anything, slightly inclined to embonpoint,
and will take care not to get that way again.
When she attended a performance of "The
Birth of a Nation" — the revival at the Cap-
itol Theater— she looked almost exactly like
her old self.

Just to make it seem more like old times,
she's going back with Griffith, to make a
longer version of "Sands o' Dee", which
was a Griffith-Marsh opus back in Biograph
days. She will also make her first stage
appearance in the fall.

REX BEACH is now an artistic associate
of Chaplin, Pickford, and Fairbanks.

He has, in other words, become a United
Artist, whereas he was only an Eminent
Author.

The popular writer of those rugged, red-
blooded stories will devote all of his time in
the future to writing and directing for the
screen. He may dash off a scenario for
Charlie or Mary or Doug in his spare time.

WORK was suspended for the afternoon
in the Famous Players home office not
long ago.

Wally Reid was in town and dropped in at
485 Fifth Avenue for a little visit. The
secretaries and stenographers and clerks and
office boys were just as thrilled over seeing
the well-known Mr. Reid in the flesh as if
they worked in an office devoted to the dis-
tribution of jute instead of motion pictures.
Just what is jute, anyway? Does any-
body know? Page Mr. Edison.

MISS DAGMAR GODOWSKY, until
the other day, had only one claim to
fame: she is the daughter of Leopold, the
pianist.

Now she is more widely known as the co-
respondent in the divorce suit brought by
Mrs. Frank Mayo against her husband, the
Universal star.

Miss Godowsky has been seen opposite
Mr. Mayo in several pictures.

(Continued on page 91)

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Being a Screen
Idol's Wife

( Concluded from page 68)

he saw the play eighteen times. His fre-
quent attendance at the Vanderbilt Theater
was a joke on Forty-Eighth Street. One
theater manager, to whom he applied for a
pass, said, "Conway Tearle, are you going
to see anything but Irene? Don't be untrue
to your wife."

I saw him first in the audience when I
was playing at Maxine Elliott's theater. I
saw him night after night for seven days.
I asked, "Who is the dark man who sits in a
front seat on the right?" "That is Con-
way Tearle," some one told me. The same
evening a friend of mine said, "Mr. Tearle
wants to meet you. Do you mind? "

I said I did not. The men brought him
back through the alley. They were passing
the window of my dressing room when the
presentor looked up and saw me through the
window. He performed the introduction
at once. So that I first saw my husband
through bars. I thought him the hand-
somest man I had ever seen.

We three went out to supper that night.
Three years later we were married. It has
been a most happy marriage.

When I went to Europe last winter with-
out him there were rumors that we had
separated. The truth is that he remained
here to fulfill a contract. My Christmas
present and "Welcome Home" was the
ivory-tinted limousine that is waiting at
the door.

He is an ideal husband. He is an artist
at saying pleasant things. He always deals
in superlatives when he talks to and of me.
I find it hard to return this. It isn't easy
for me to say extravagant things to any-
one. Though "I think I am the most fortu-
nate of women to be his wife.

I am jealous of no one in the world. For
he is all mine. I am only jealous of his
reputation as a man and an artist. That is
why I serve the role of valet and conscience
and memory. Because I want him to live
up to his lithographs, I preside over his
dressing. For the same reason I keep before
him his continuous duty to be pleasant to
fragments of his audience when they pass
him in the flesh. And I help him to remem-
ber this duty. A screen idol's wife should
be a flesh and blood motto, "Lest we for-
get. " For no star may forget his world-wide
audience.

The adulation which the stage star re-
ceives is impersonal. That of the motion
picture star is personal.

The woman in the stage star's audience
turns an eye or makes a slight motion of the
fan, to tell her neighbor that they are in the
presence of the luminary. The woman of the
screen star's audience says frankly and dis-
tinctly, "Oh! 'Conway Tearle.'" It is a
warm-hearted audience, this world circlin
one.

The mission of the screen star's wife is to
guard him against becoming impatient with
these attentions. To become so is fatal.
As Mary Pickford sweetly said: "We are
complimented by them."

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A Bad Actor from Bildad

(Continued from page 47)

"Chuck," said Hood, on whimsical im-
pulse.

"Yes, sir." Hood swung into his saddle.
"Well, so long, Mister Chuck. Hope
sometime I see you later."

"Good luck, Bill!" the man replied. He
rode away, without once looking back. He
was uncomfortably afraid, if he did, that
perhaps the youngster wouldn't be keeping
a stiff upper lip. He passed the waterhole,
went on up the valley to where the trail
turned, into the little pass that marked the
end of Flint Canon, and out toward the
south — the railroad — the call of the cities.

"Mister Chuck!" he mused. "Sounded
funny, didn't it?"

Queer that he had given the kid that old
nickname, when Brown or Smith would
have done as well. Why had he? Nobody
had called him "Chuck" since he left home.
Back there, most of them hadn't. His
father had called him "Jackie" when he
was little, and his mother had said "Son"
usually, as long as she lived; it was only
Buddie that had always called him "Chuck."
It dated back to a day when the little fellow
couldn't make his tongue say "Jack."

And Buddie, while time had been sliding
along for good and bad, he hadn't seen for
eight years. Buddie would be eighteen,
now. His hair would be a whole lot darker;
yellow hair like that never holds its tint
into manhood. Hood wondered if the boy
would be glad to see him, now. He had
cried when his father opened the door and
roared that John was to go through it and
that his shadow was never to darken his
threshold again. More than half right, too,
the old man had been, although, if he hadn't
been so harsh, so puritanically strict, per-
haps . Nobody had cared much what

happened except Buddie.

Well, that was all right. John's way
hadn't been like that of the rest of the
family up there in the Panhandle and across
in the Territory. One of the things his
father had said, that last night, was that he
wasn't going to have him around leading
Buddie into sin. As if he wouldn't have
protected Buddie from everything! That
innocent face, that mop of yellow hair

Suppose Sheriff Sam Wingate of McKinley
didn't happen to think of Flint Canon when
he set out to look for Bill. Suppose, if he
did, he thought it an improbable place and
looked almost everywhere else first, and
didn't get there until tomorrow. Some-
body else would come by, of course. That
is, somebody else ought to, but this was not
an often used trail; there must be days on
end when not a living human happened to
want to pass that waterhole. Suppose the
injury — it looked like a simple sprain, but
things could be wrong that only a doctor
could determine — needed extra prompt
attention. Without treatment for a day,
what layman could swear there mightn't be
some sort of blood-poisoning set in, or some-
thing? There were rattlers in that valley;
it was a big one that had scared his horse.
Suppose a rattler —

Hood exclaimed disgustedly, and drew
the little red horse to a stop.

Carefully he looked about him until his
eyes rested upon a stone of peculiar con-
figuration, three paces from the base of a
slope that had a little twisted tree at the
top of it. He guided the horse to the spot,
slipped off, bridle over his arm, detached
the package of money from its place against
the saddle, and hid it beneath the rock.

"I'm a fool, HT red hawse," he confided,
as he resumed his place in the saddle.
With which explanation he turned the
animal's head to the northward and urged
him into a canter along the trail over which
they had just come.

The boy, as he came into sight, dashed a
swift hand against his cheekbones; Hood
identified the gesture with a poignant little
stab of self-condemnation; why had he
thought he could callously ride to safety
and leave a child to loneliness and fear?
There was nothing of commiseration in his
face or voice, however, as he approached.

" I reckon maybe we'd better try to make
McKinley," he said, merely. "Figure it
won't do my business no harm to wait."
Little Red Horse stopped as he spoke' and
he alighted. "Thing is, now, to dope out
how you're going to ride easiest."

Bill Wingate swallowed hard, hesitated,
then bravely said the proper thing:

"I wouldn't want to put you out none."

"None whatever. I won't take you
plumb to McKinley; just ride down that-
away until we meet somebody, and then I'll
turn you over to them. It's going to hurt
some, riding."

"Yes, sir," agreed the boy, "I expect so.
But I won't holler. Last night when it was
cold, and I couldn't seem to get comfort-
able, and she ached like thunder, I didn't
holler — much." He sighed regretfully. "I
expect my father, when he was a boy,
wouldn't have hollered a-tall."

Hood was making saddle adjustments
"We'll start in riding you behind me," he
said. "If that don't work satisfactory, you
go in the saddle and I'll hoof it awhile
alongside."

Bill was observing the little red horse
critically. "Don't look very tired," he re-
marked, always striving for casualness.
"Can carry double, I s'pose, if we don't
hurry too much. Although I'm right heavy
for my age." It struck him suddenly that
the man might think he wanted to occupy
the saddle and make him walk — which
wasn't what he had in mind at all — and he
hastened to say:

"But I don't guess I'm too heavy.
You'll have to give me a little boost; I don't
believe I could get up alone; but after I'm
up I won't make no trouble."

"Getting you up'll be one of the easiest
things we do." Hood was speaking and
acting with the same matter-of-fact casual-
ness as the boy. "I'm going to put you
up on this tall rock, here, and li'l red hawse
— he's plumb gentle — will edge around
there and stand while we get you forked on
proper, and then all you got to do is to hold
on to me. Take a good drink of water
first; it'll be some dusty and you'll be using
both hands."

Not without moments when the tears
refused to stay out of Bill's eyes— although
the man never happened to be looking into
his face at such times — they accomplished
the double mount, Little Red Horse sensing
emergency and living up to his reputation
for gentleness. Behind him, as the animal
began to pick its way toward the northern
mouth of the valley, Hood heard Bill
breathing hard, through clenched teeth.
There was nothing he could do to make the
tortured ankle more comfortable; he talked
to take the boy's mind away from it.

"Go to school?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. And I'm way up in the Fourth
Reader." He felt a necessity for making it
honestly clear that the McKinley public
school did not inevitably advance boys of
eight or nine so incredibly far. "My
father, he helps with my studying. I can
do long division."

"Mother?"

"I ain't got no mother. She died when
I was a little boy."

The next question was unpremeditated:
"Where'd you get that head o' hair?"

"My father," was the proud response.
"His hair isn't like it at all, now, but when

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

A Bad Actor from Bildad

(Continued)

he was a kid like me he says it was just about
the same kind o' yeller." That his pride
was not in the present shade of his tumbled
locks was evidenced by his next remark:
"Maybe, when I grow up, I'll look like
him."

"Pretty good father, I reckon."
"Well," explained Bill, in fairness to
other boys whose fathers were different,
"there ain't only him and me in our family,
you know."

Over the brow of a rolling foothill they
caught their first glimpse of McKinley, a
little scattered, dusty village of low frame
houses. "It's just about four miles from
here," Bill said. "And we ain't met any-
body yet. If I'd stayed back there they
wouldn't 'a' got there by noon, would they?"
Hood did not reply. There was an
anxiety in his eyes that the boy, behind
him, could not see. He could never go
into the town. Yet unless they met some-
one before they came to its farthest outpost,
he must enter it. And not enough strangers
passed through McKinley for his presence
not to be commented upon and his appear-
ance described, especially with such an
errand bringing them there. He ought to
set the boy down somewhere, now, and turn
back; Little Red Horse would be hard put
to it, at best, to reach Big Springs, and that
earliest train would soon be gone. He
would be fortunate indeed to make the later
one.

Once he half turned his head to tell the
boy he planned not to go much farther.
As he did, Bill spoke:
"Gee, I bet a bed won't feel so rotten!
And I reckon maybe the doctor'll be able
to get her not to aching almost right off.
Do you think he will, Mister Chuck?"

"In almost no time," Hood told him,
looking forward across the horse's ears.
They plodded on. Ten minutes later a man
on horseback came into sight, alone.

"Somebody coming," remarked Hood.
The boy craned his neck to look around him.
He shouted with delight: "That's my
father!"

Hood saw even at that distance that the
sheriff was on a fresh horse. Hood lifted a
hand and waved it; he turned for a moment
at right angles across the trail so the ap-
proaching man could see that there was a
second figure on Little Red Horse's pack.
The reaction was instantaneous. Sheriff
Wingate lifted his arms; seemed to life his
horse. The animal, a handsome roan, came
thundering.

Wingate was out of the saddle while still
the roan was sliding to a stop.

"He's all right," Hood assured him
cheerily. "Nothing but a little twist to
his ankle that fixed him so he couldn't
walk. No bones broken a-tall."

"That cussed new hawse done throwed
me," Bill confessed. He was still striving
for casualness, but now his lips were quiver-
ing beyond any possibility of concealment.
As the sheriff, still unspeaking, strode
quickly to the side of the little red horse,
his arms outstretched, his eyes eloquent,
his face twitching as few men had ever seen
it twitch, the boy forgot he had to act like
a man. "Daddy!" he cried. "It was an
awful long night!" and buried his face on
the big square shoulder as his father lifted
him carefully from his seat.

It was several moments later, when the
sheriff had satisfied himself the boy was
neither badly hurt nor seriously exhausted,
that he turned for the first time to Hood,
who had remained in the saddle, watchful.
"I'm shorely grateful to you, stranger — "
he began, and Bill interrupted:

"His name is Mister Chuck. He come
through Flint Canon, there, and he had

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business off beyond thataway, but he put
it off to bring me home. He didn't come
through McKinley, so he didn't know about
my being lost."

"We've been hunting ever since dark
last night," Wingate said. "But nobody'd
seen him leave, and we hadn't got to search-
ing in this direction until I just got a fresh
hawse and came out. There's parties out
in pretty much every other direction.
Some of my deputies handling 'em." He
explained: "I'm sheriff."

"Yes, suh," Hood said. "So Bill told
me."

The little red horse • hitched around
uneasily, and Wingate for the first time
observed that Hood was wearing a holstered
pistol. It is contrary to law in Texas to
carry a pistol, either concealed or otherwise,
without a permit, and permits do not run
in other counties than those in which they
are issued. The sheriff is cognizant of all
those in his jurisdiction who have the right
to go armed. While he was hesitating, won-
dering if he could successfully seem not to
be aware of a violation of one of his most
strictly enforced laws, he realized that
Hood's right hand had not moved for
moments — and that it rested, back forward,
fingers bent, within two or three inches of
the pistol butt. His eyes lifted quickly to
Hood's face, rested there searchingly, and
Hood saw in them the light of identification.

There ensued a brief, tense period of
silence. Then the sheriff said:

" I'm right sorry, but we're pretty strong
in this county on the pistol-totin' law. I'm
afraid I'll have to ask you to let me have
that gun."

Hood did not move. His eyes met the
sheriff's squarely.

" I'm hoping, suh," he said after a second,
"that you put the little feller out of range
before you come to take it." He smiled
thinly. "Unless you'd feel safer to have
me handicapped."

" I don't have to have no boy for a shield,"
Wingate retorted hotly, and Hood replied,
still smiling: "That's good. For two
reasons."

Wingate bit his lip. This was defiance,
and a self-respecting sheriff could be ex-
pected to do one thing, yet he hesitated.

"For the moment I ain't going to start
anything," he declared himself. "You'll
get due notice, and there won't be anything
to interfere. That is, if you're agreeable to
letting the cards lay that way, temporary."

Hood nodded and let his pistol hand relax.
"Suits me," he said. "You've got a reputa-
tion, among other things, for keeping your
word."

"You've got some reputation of your
own," Wingate replied, "according to what
the sheriff at Bildad telephoned last night.
Two little killings, ain't it? One in South
Texas and one in Arizona. Sheriff said get
you to going and you shore was a bad actor.
How'd you come to be up there in Flint
Canon? Did you make Devil's Slide in the
night? "

"Where is Devil's Slide?" Hood asked.

"And the money. Ninety-five hundred,
they tell me. You must have cached it."

"What money?"

"Cached it after you come across Bill, I
reckon."

" I don't know what money you're talking
about," Hood said, with no attempt to be
convincing, "but you can let it go at that."

"And you was heading for Big Springs."
The sheriff's frown deepened. "You'd
have made the eleven o'clock."

Hood affected lightness.

"There's other trains."

"But you ain't going to be do

you think I'm the kind of. a man to let you
go, just because Bill here — — "

Hood interrupted him. "Not for that
reason whatever," he said. "But as to
whether you're the man to let me go, that
remains to be seen. You can walk away
twenty, thirty feet from Bill there, and tell
me when you're ready. Whatever we do,
let's do it. Time's flying."

Bill had been scowling in an effort to
follow this cryptic conversation. The last
two exchanges had at last straightened it
out in his mind that some unexplained
reason existed why his father and the
stranger should fight. Not for a second did
any apprehension for his father enter his
head; his thoughts were all of the con-
sequences to the other.

"Daddy," he said. "Mister Chuck done
give me his sandwiches — and all his water.
He could 'a left me alongside the waterhole,
but I'd 'a' been laying out in the sun and
prob'ly it'd hurt to move around to get a
drink, so he left the canteen. That was
when he went off south, before he figured
his business would let him bring me home."

"Yes, son," Wingate said softly.

He glowered unhappily at Hood, who no
longer smiled. "You see, I'm one of the
kind," he told him, as though there had
been a question asked which needed answer,
" that takes his oath of office sort of serious."

"I'd figure so from knowing Bill," Hood
replied soberly. "Kind o' tough, sheriff —
but I'm aiming not to be took."

" If I hadn't been able to hold on behind,
he was going to walk," the boy put in.

"Nonsense!" Hood scoffed. "I knew you
wouldn't let me. You're some man, Bill."

"There ain't but one thing to do,"
snapped the sheriff. "If you hadn't picked
Bill up, how far would you have got by
now? "

"About to the Big Springs tank."

"That's six hours' ride from here — with
a fresh hawse. Get down."

Hood, puzzled, made no motion.

"That hawse of yours is plumb done up,"
the sheriff urged, irritably. "He wouldn't
get you to Big Springs in all day. He's a
good hawse, when he ain't tired; I can see
that. It's a fair trade. Take the roan."

"You're going to let me make it?"

"I'm going to let you start to make it,"
Wingate amended. "You can do as you
please, but if I was you I wouldn't take no
train, because there'll be telegrams. I'd
keep on going and try to make the border.
You'll be at Flint Canyon by twelve o'clock,
you'll have the payroll money in no time
after, and you'll hit the railroad at Big
Springs at four o'clock, say." He dug into
a pocket and produced a package. "Here's
some sandwiches. You've got water in
your canteen, haven't you? I'll say much
obliged for Bill and me. Get to going!"

"If we ever meet again " Hood began,

and the sheriff broke in on him sharply:

"We'll meet again some time tomorrow,
unless you have better luck than I'm hoping
you have. I'm going to get Bill fixed up,
now. At four o'clock this evening, about
the time you're coming in sight of the rail-
road if you ride fast — with a long ways yet
to go before you come to the border — I'm
leaving here after you with the blamedst
posse of hard riders you ever saw. And I'm
advising, I ain't aiming to let you get away
from me twice."

"Fair enough," agreed Hood, gravely,
and swung to the ground. He shifted his
saddle to the roan and threw his leg over it.

"So long, Bill!" he called to the wide-
eyed boy, as the animal's head turned to the
south. "Did anybody ever tell you your
father was some man?" His eyes crinkled.
" I don't know, if anybody crowded me for
my opinion, but what I would go so far as
to say he's as much of a man as what you
are."

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued from page 86)
"AV /'HAT'S the matter with your watch,

Wson?" Will Rogers inquired of his
son Jimmy, who was shaking his wrist
watch with more energy than discretion.

"Nothing the matter with it," said young
Rogers, "It's just lost its tick, that's all."

LADY DUFF-COOPER: a new photo-
graph showing the famous Rutland
pearls." Or "Lady Cooper, the former Lady
Diana Manners, now a J. Stuart Blackton
Film Star, Registering Grief."

When one sees all these press appearances
of the English noblewoman one wonders
when she gets time to make motion pictures.
Undoubtedly she is making them, because
we have also read stories about her camp-
chair — you know all movie stars have camp-
chairs with their names printed on them,
and even if she is a Lady, Diana had to have
one, too.

That settles it, doesn't it? My word, yes!

ALONG about the first of June, every-
body was talking about the expected
heir in the Pickford-Fairbanks home in
Beverly Hills, in September.

The Los Angeles newspapers first printed
the story that a visit from the stork was an-
ticipated by the famous Fairbanks', and the
report spread to every corner of the country
like wildfire. And then —

Mary Pickford denied the report and said
that she would not be working in "Little
Lord Fauntleroy" if it were true. She ex-
pected to be busy on this new picture until
the first of September.

When seen at her Hollywood studio, Miss
Pickford was making dual exposure scenes,
appearing as Little Lord Fauntleroy and
also as Dearie, his mother. She was wearing
the traditional Little Lord Fauntleroy cos-
tume of velvet knickers and blouse and lace
collar and she looked more slender and
childlike than ever in this garb. While the
published report claimed to have come from
a close friend of Miss Pickford, her friends
today said they were certain no such event
need be expected at least until after the
divorce action now pending in Nevada — in
which the state of Nevada will attempt to
prove that Mary Pickford's divorce from
Owen Moore was not legal — is settled.

LILLIAN GISH is going into the "legiti-
mate" drama next season.
She will not star on Broadway — oh, no,
nothing so plebeian as that — but will be the
associate of Arnold Daly in Mr. Daly's con-
templated repertoire at the Greenwich Vil-
lage Theater, down in the more or less artis-
tic section of Manhattan. They will do
"Candida" by Shaw, among other plays.

Pauline Frederick is said to have made I
up her mind to come back to Broadway, ;
although it doesn't seem probable that she
will give up a $7500 a week contract with
Robertson-Cole to do so. And have you
heard that Polly may become Mrs. Willard
Mack again? It is, at any rate, among the
possibilities — providing Mr. Mack proves
that he can devote himself seriously and
earnestly to his art to the exclusion of all
diversions.

MILDRED HARRIS, who has done
some real acting — according to rumor
— aided by Cecil deMille and a very becom-
ing blonde wig, will go into vaudeville.

DOROTHY GISH is seriously consider-
ing a season in stock as the co-star of
her young husband, James Rennie.

Incidentally, it is said that the high
salaries formerly demanded and received by
cinema celebrities for flies into the legiti-
mate, have been considerably reduced. So
that the aforementioned artists are probably
in it for Art's sake. Probably!

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Plays and Players

{Concluded)

ACCORDING to newspaper reports,
Mrs. Anne Stillman, whom James
A. Stillman, New York banker, has been
suing for divorce in one of the most sensa-
tional cases ever brought in American
courts, has been offered $100,000 to be a
film star.

On the advice of her new attorneys, ac-
cording to the newspapers, Mrs. Stillman
has declined the offer.

But it is only a case in point.

Whenever the heroine of a scandal or
murder is given wide newspaper publicity,
immediately stories are circulated that she
has gone into the movies, or has had offers
to go into the movies. In some cases, the
actual attempt has been made. Andalways
it has failed. In others, the entire report has
been fiction. But the result is the same. It
prejudices the decent, sane majority against
the films.

The admirable stand taken by influential
California film men against the film debut
of a self-confessed murderess deserves wide
support and emulation. It is to be noted
that the woman's screen debut has been
indefinitely postponed.

RUDOLPH VALENTINO'S domestic
affairs are being aired in a Los Angeles
court.

"Rudy's" wife has brought suit for di-
vorce against the ex-tango dancer and
present leading man. Mrs. Valentino —
who was Jane Acker, an actress — says Rudy
was a nice boy until he went to New York
to appear at the Broadway showing of
"The Four Horsemen," in which he plays'a
leading role. When he returned to Califor-
nia he was a different man, she says. Broad-
way, in short, has spoiled him; and Mrs.
Valentino wants a decree of divorce, and
temporary alimony, and everything like
that.

JUST about the same time that Jack Gil-
bert's engagement to Leatrice Joy was
confirmed by both young persons, Jack was
made a star by Fox.

Young Mr. Gilbert has been a scenario
writer, assistant director, full-fledged direc-
tor, film cutter, and actor. He has served
Maurice Tourneur in all five capacities.

His fiancee will be chiefly remembered for
her work in "Bunty Pulls the Strings."

ONE of the most unforgettable of
all Rudyard Kipling's Indian tales
has reached the screen. "Without Ben-
efit of Clergy" has been produced by
Pathe, with Mr. Kipling's aid.

The famous writer could not leave
England to assist in the filming of his
story; so a scenario expert went abroad
to instruct Kipling in the technique of
the screen. When he arrived, he found
that Mr. Kipling had already completely
mastered the essentials of scenario tech-
nique by studying a script. Kipling's
ideas were all set down in the scenario,
and his own sketches of the streets of the
Indian village, and the costumes of the
characters, were faithfully followed to
the smallest detail, when — in California
— James Young later took up the actual
work of directing "Without Benefit of
Clergy." Thomas Holding plays the
Englishman and Virginia Faire Ameera.

Every advertisement in rilOTOrj.AY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Top picture, the two princi-
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Virginia Faire, in a scene from
the photoplay. Above, a vil-
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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

A Daughter of the
Vikings

(Continued from page 41)
the most delicious little accent — just suffi-
cient to make her voice distinctive.

I don't know just what her affect upon
men may be. To me, she has absolutely
none of this cultivated and advertised "sex-
appeal." She is — even though I think she
must be all of twenty-five by now — still
more the girl than the woman.

But dog-gone it, if Ann Forrest is a friend
of yours, you know you've got one friend
you can count on to go to the bat for you
any old time at all.

As so often happens, while her strong
point on the screen is pathos — never will I
forget the moment in "The Prince Chap"
when, as the dirty little slavey, she brought
up her home-made doll for the Christmas
tree — while she can today, I believe, ex-
press pathos on the screen more effectively
than any other actress, the strongest point
of her character off the screen is humor.

When she was recently in the hospital in
Los Angeles for a couple of weeks, she kept
the entire floor in gales of laughter all the
time. In fact, she had such a good time,
that the doctor became much concerned
for fear she wouldn't give herself a chance
to get strong again.

"I have never heard anyhody laugh so
much," he said to the nurse.

But you see, Ann Forrest has the "under-
standing heart."

Her soul — if you will excuse this simile —
is turned outward to the world. And its
windows are always open.

She comes of course from a country where
the women have developed fortitude, cour-
age, good cheer, strength and understanding.

I can never remember the name of the
little island off the coast of Denmark where
she was born. But it is a small, difficult
country, where little Ann grew almost to
womanhood. There she developed among
women who knew life early, who are forced
to look within themselves for happiness,
who generally experience the widest range
of emotions, both happy and sorrowful.

She came to America only some ten years
ago. I knew her first when she was playing
small bits on the old Triangle lot — a happy,
hard-working, carefree little thing, always
in for a good time, always ready to work
herself to a shadow. She has worked hard
for her success. And she will work hard to
maintain it.

It's funny, but until this moment I never
thought very much about Ann Forrest's
looks, one way or the other. As I stop to
analyse it, the only beautiful thing about
her is her eyes. They really are wonderful.
It is their expression more than their color
cr size or shape that fastens itself upon you.

Ann is now playing a long term contract
with Famous Players-Lasky. Her most
recent success was "The Faith-Healer" and
she has just completed a difficult emotional
role in "The Money Master," a Sir Gilbert
Parker story starring James Kirkwood.

It was Cecil deMille who first attached to
her the name, "A Daughter of the Vikings."

It is not only that she has the Norse fair-
ness of skin, the sun-yellow hair, the strongly
marked features. But there is about her
whole make-up some thing indomitable.
You can easily imagine her starting out
across uncharted seas, unafraid and fired by
the enthusiasm of imagination.

Yes, Why?

IF the city has the right to censor moving
pictures before being shown, why not
have a board to examine the traveling
"legit" shows before allowing the public to
see them? — Portland (Ore.) Journal.

The Best of
Them All
Says
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Hello, Mabel!

(Continued from page 25)

may obtain our Standard Course for Unmp StuHv
Yourinquirywillbekept confidential. llull,c aluu/
THE LEWIS SCHOOL. Adelaide St.. Detroit Mich.

And now — this superlative, rejuvenated,
curved and sparkling Mabel.

"How did you do it?" I asked her a few
days later.

We were curled on a big, soft divan before
a snapping wood fire that wiped away all
memory of the cold, drizzle without.

"I don't know," said Mabel, smiling.

The same old Mabel. Inarticulate and
shy about herself, in spite of her fun and
frankness.

But gradually, as the flames died into a
glowing mass, and the silent maid drew the
curtains and lighted a dim lamp or two,
she unconsciously drew for me the startling
outlines of a picture which, with the assist-
ance of history, I could fill in for myself.

Strangely enough, too, we talked mostly
about books. Stephen Leacock — her favor-
ite, speaking somehow of the same desire
for comedy and frivolity shown by the boys
home from the front; the new Russians,
from whom she shuddered away as a person
does who has seen reality and tragedy
enough in life itself; Knut Hamsen, whom
she surprisingly, tenderly understood;
Ibanez, to whose indirectness she could not
respond.

Reading between the lines, it brought me
an understanding of Mabel Normand's
come-back.

Because it is a come-back.

One word — her creed, her ideal, her
philosophy — sums up the method, the rea-
son and the reward.

Courage.

How Mabel Normand adores courage:
It is to her the supreme characteristic.
Almost breathlessly she says of this woman
— of that book-character— of such and such
a hero, "What courage! What courage!"

It is her highest praise.

She has had to learn courage — the spark-
ling, vivid, sixteen-year-old butterfly.

The story of Mabel Normand's life — such
a short life to have packed so much between
its covers — is almost as well known as that
of Mary Pickford.

In a world that watched with intensity
every movement of the early motion picture
stars, it was not possible that Mabel Nor-
man should live without an audience.

To the motion picture people themselves
and to a large part of the motion picture
public, Mabel Normand's history is well
known.

They know of her comet-like rise from
complete obscurity to fame and fortune.
They know of the adulation and riches
and opportunities heaped instantaneously
into the lap of this pretty, excitable,
impulsive, big-hearted kid, who stood
against this onslaught with very little either
of education or tradition to help her.

The kindliest mortal I have ever known.

I have seen her take off an expensive new
hat that she liked and give it to a cash girl
that looked at it wistfully. She could not
bear the sight of suffering.

Her fame, her success, her money never
made any difference in Mabel. A friend
was a friend. A need was a need. Never
any of this, "I meet so many! What is
your name?" stuff about Mabel.

Four years ago Mabel was in a very
serious automobile accident. For months
her life hung in the balance. For weeks
she was not expected to live.

But the doctors had failed to count on
Mabel Normand's heart — on that courage
which she rates so high.

Somehow, she won that fight with death.
Gamely, smilingly, wide-eyed and unafraid,
she fought against the overwhelming odds,
not particularly because she wanted to live,
but because she did not think it courageous
to die.

She won — but that was the beginning of
all that followed. For several years,
Mabel's health — not even then cared for as
it should have been because Mabel would
not care for it — sank steadily.

And then, Mabel Normand disappeared.

The Goldwyn lot, where she was working,
knew her no more.

But in the rock-ribbed hills of a New
England state, in a small village and in
surroundings without comforts or in-
dulgences of any kind, a girl was beginning
her real fight for life.

For six months, Mabel "rested." With
that smiling courage of hers, she took up
the steady, soul-grinding task of building
up a wrecked nervous system, of recuper-
ating a weak and neglected body.

She made good. She has come back.
The whispers and the words have all
changed now. It is — "Doesn't Mabel Nor-
mand look wonderful?"

There is hardly a gathering in Hollywood
where her return to health and beauty is
not discussed. Her quiet, systematic way
of living is talked of now.

Coincidentally, Mabel is back on the
Mack Sennett lot where she made her first
pictures, and where for years she was
starred to such advantage. Comedy queens
and bathing beauties may come and go, but
there is only one Mabel Normand. They
could not replace her. So when you go
over to the same old lot, and see the same
old Mabel, it seems as though the hands
of the clock had been turned back.

Picturesque, brilliant, warm-hearted little
comedienne; I don't care what they're
paying her — even the reputed $7,800 a week
— she's worth it.

We loved her then and we love her now
because she's always — the same old Mabel.

An Open Letter to Mme. Nazimova

(Concluded from page 31)

public will be satisfied if they have enough
of Nazimova, no matter in what, no matter
how she acts. Perhaps you have decided
that at your worst you are better than most
screen actresses.

But you are wrong! We judge Nazimova
not by the standard of the screen but by
the standard of — Nazimova. Less than
your best is no more acceptable than a bad
copy of a great masterpiece. It is not fair
to offer to the public pictures bearing the
name "Nazimova" that possess nothing
that name stands for.

You have no plans for the future — at
least, you have announced none. That you
will again have the chance to do big things,

-Nazimova

no one can doubt. The name-
— still stands for too much.

That is why we take this opportunity of
asking, what will you do?

Will the spark of genius light again, and
shall we see the Nazimova of "War Brides? "
Will that Nazimova make us love Ibsen on
the screen, as she did on the stage? Will
she, with her fine daring, do what European
film men are doing, take the great stories of
history that have lived and thrilled through
centuries, and make them for us? Will the
Nazimova who once fought her way to the
top of the ladder over terrific obstacles and
in the face of terrific odds, re-assert herself
and give us back — the real Nazimova?

We can only "watch and pray."

ICvery advertisement In PHOTOl'LAV MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Traditions? Never Heard
of 'Em

{Concluded from page 43.)

together. Upon this structure the clay
is then roughly massed.

"Just so, the moving picture director
must have a thorough knowledge of
scenario construction, as the sculptor
must be familiar with the making of the
foundation. Hut the film often presents
a more complicated problem than either
paint or clay. The compositions of painter
and sculptor are studied out, and when
finished, remain as their creator left them,
but the moving picture com posit ion changes
momentarily. Often a fine bit of grouping
that has taken the director a long time to
compose will be changed to an unbalanced,
disconnected mob scene through some
alteration in dramatic action." He knows
human nature. He knows it so well that
he absorbs gobs of it in its crude state.

Can you fancy a director of Ingram's
calibre making pals with the tattader-
mallion crew of extras on the studio floor
and familiarly inviting their ideas?

When Ingram admitted seriously that
this was his custom, we were constrained
to a low mirthful chuckle.

"But don't you see, if they don't know
what they're supposed to be doing, they
can't be natural. I don't teach them
how to act! I don't want them to act.
The minute they start acting, they're
no good, that's all."

Ingram gave us that fierce hard grip
again as we said goodbye.

"I'm awfully much obliged to you for
coming over to see me," he said in parting.

This was the last horrible shock and we
tottered feebly away. To think of a
director being much obliged for any-
thing!

Enquiry over the telephone, as we finish
the story of our interview, reveals the fact
that Ingram is only twenty-nine. He was
born in Dublin, Ireland, and brought up
in that city and in Tipperary. In 1911 he
came to America and got a job working
in the freight yards at Belle dock, New
Haven, Conn. He worked for the railroad
about a year and then entered Yale, class
of 1914. At the art school there he had
met Lee O. Lawrie, who was professor of
sculpture. Ingram studied under Lawrie
and later served as his assistant. But he
is a comparatively old hand at the picture
game. He first went with the Edison
company about six years ago, writing
scenarios and acting. Then he became a
member of the old Vitagraph stock com-
pany and played opposite Lillian Walker,
Leah Baird, Helen Gardner and Clara
Kimball Young.

Ingram tired of acting and went to Fox
where for more than a year he wrote
original stories and continuity for Betty
Hansen, William Farnum, Nance O'Neill,
Theda Bara and Robert Mantell. The
first of the Universal Bluebird pictures,
"The Great Problem," was directed by
him. Other pictures of this series were
"Broken Fetters," "The Chalice of
Sorrow," "The Reward of the Faith-
less," and "Black Orchids."

Then came the war and Ingram joined
the Royal Flying Corps in 1917 in which
he was commissioned a second lieutenant.

When the armistice was declared, In-
gram was relieved of military duties and
directed two Jewel productions, "The
Day She Paid," and "Under Crimson
Skies."

Joining Metro, he picturized James A.
Heme's famous play, "Shore Acres," and
"Hearts Are Trumps" — and then "The
Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse."

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{Continued from page 30)
Eager to test it, he prepared to spring the no inclination
trick upon the fat stranger.

Holding up the empty bottle he gazed at
it in apparent dismay. "All gone," he
said; "and she was only supposed to take
the half of it. What could I have been
a-thinkin' of. Drat it! Now she'll be
squallin' again in no time!"

"My," said the fat man, admiringly.
"She's some eater, ain't she?"

"Naw!" responded Mr. Muggins. "She
don't each much. It's the milk. It's no
good. You can't get good milk unless you
pay something terrible for it. I'll have to
get her some more. How'd you like to hold
her a bit while I go for it?"

"Me?" said the fat man, a mingled
expression of terror and delight spreading
over his face. "Why — why I don't know.
I — I've never had any babies. I'm — I'm
kind of afraid I might break her some-
wheres."

"Rats!" retorted Mr. Muggins. "What
do you think she is? Crockery? Here, put
her on your lap and try it. All you gotta
do is to keep your hands on her so she
won't roll off. See?"

The stranger, his hat on the back of his
head, and his red face redder than ever,
stiffened perceptibly as he took the bundle
Mr. Muggins handed him. "All — all right,"
he said, beaming like a full moon. "I don't
mind. But don't be long. It — it makes
me kind of creepy holdin' anything like
this."

"Bunk!" was Mr. Muggins' comment as
he got to his feet and thrust the empty
bottle into his pocket. "You'll get used to
it in no time. Just play with her a bit and
there won't be no trouble. Come along,
you!"

Grasping J. Muggins, junior, by one
hand, and Annie, "after her mother," by the
other, he hurried away, the fat man staring
after him anxiously.

Once out of the square Mr. Muggins
turned a vast number of corners, traversed
several ill-smelling alleys, and then, as he
felt, having thoroughly covered his trail,
headed leisurely for home.

As he travelled, though, he seemed to get
less and less satisfaction out of the feat he
had just performed. In vain he told him-
self he had only loaned the kid to the fat
stranger, and that he was going back for it
in a few weeks. Everywhere he looked he
saw the baby's scared blue eyes, and its
fretful little mouth, and felt the clasp of
its tiny clutching fingers. He even re-
membered the smudge of down on its head.

If it had been a big, fat baby now, he
thought, that didn't need so much looking
after, it would be different. But such a
skinny little thing, getting nothing but
watery old milk that the stores cheated you
with. Doggone! It didn't have a fair
show. And that fat fellow, maybe he was
just talking. Maybe he wasn't so crazy
about kids after all. What if he went off
and left the baby on the bench? Or s'pose
he wouldn't give the baby back when J.
Muggins went for it?

Summing up his own doubts, he began to
vision the total that Mrs. Muggins might
also accumulate. He wasn't so sure now
that his explanation would explain after all.
Oh, well, if she insisted he'd go to the fat
man and get the baby back right off.
Maybe it would be just as well. Maybe —

And then quite suddenly J. Muggins
stopped in his tracks and gasped. He was
within sight of the familiar doorway leading
up to his apartment, but though his two
remaining children had dashed ahead and
gone indoors, Mr. Muggins seemed to have

to follow. Indeed, the
thought of facing Mrs. Muggins almost
terrified him, for Mr. Muggins' plan, like
most products of the human mind, had had
its flaw. He had quite forgotten to get the
fat man's name and address before leaving
the park.

For perhaps five minutes J. Muggins
remained in a state of stupefaction. Then
with an inarticulate remark he whirled
about and fled back to Webster Square as
fast as he could go. Although more than
an hour had elapsed there was still a chance
that the fat stranger might be waiting for
him.

But when he got to the fountain, there
on the bench where the fat man had sat
was an ornate colored couple having a con-
fidential chat. Mr. Muggins stopped in
front of them and glared.

"Where's he gone?" he inquired, breath-
lessly.

"What?" responded the dusky escort,
rolling his eyes uneasily and nudging his
companion.

"A fat feller with a baby," explained Mr-
Muggins. "Here's the baby's bottle-
Don't that prove I'm its father?"

"G'way fum heah!" blustered the dusky
escort, shrinking back against the bench.
"I — I ain't got yoh baby!"

"I know! I know!" sputtered Mr. Mug-
gins, wiggling his hands frantically. "A fat
feller with a red face! He's the one! Wait
till I get him! I'll—"

But his words drew no response from the
dusky gentleman and his lady friend.
Hastily they arose, and eyeing him fearfully
they made off down one of the pathways as
fast as they could.

"Stole!" gasped Mr. Muggins, dropping
on the bench with a thud. "The baby's
stole! He ought to be hung! Oh, what a
life! First the pushcart — now the baby!"

Gradually J. Muggins' sense of propor-
tion came back to him. He mustn't let
himself get rattled; if he did he'd never
find the baby. Let's see! What was it the
fat fellow had said about his business?
Oh yes, a delicatessen store. Well, then, all
he had to do was to go around to all the
delicatessen stores until he found him.
And when he found him he'd tell him what
for. The idea of going off with a baby that
didn't belong to him just because a person
didn't come back for it right away.

Well, he'd better be starting. There
must be a bunch of delicatessen stores in
town, but he'd find the fat man if he had
to go to every one of them.

All that afternoon Mr. Muggins pursued
his quest; his mode of procedure rather
erratic. He would go into a shop, inquire
for the proprietor, then when that worthy
appeared, stare fixedly at him for a moment,
shake his head mournfully and walk out,
much to the gratification of the tradesman,
who undoubtedly classed him as a first
grade lunatic.

The sight of a baby carriage on the street
was the signal for further demonstrations.
Regardless of the remonstrances of whoever
was wheeling the vehicle, he would make
his way to the front of it and peer under
the hood in a frenzy of hope.

That he escaped arrest was a marvel.
Indeed, one stout, apoplectic looking gentle-
man whose build was remarkably like that
of the fat stranger in the park, did bawl
for the police when Mr. Muggins grabbed
his coat tails and demanded fiercely what
he had done with his offspring. For-
tunately, Mr. Muggins, realizing his mis-
take, had presence of mind enough to
escape around the corner of a warehouse.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPT.AY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

And Three Lovely
Children —

(Continued)

By six o'clock J. Muggins was all in,
both physically and mentally, and half the
delicatessen dealers were as yet to be inter-
viewed. Gloom sat heavy on his soul.

Like a miser deprived of a portion of his
savings, he kept counting his children over
as he trudged wearily homeward. Only two
lovely children now where but a short time
ago he had had three. And whose fault
was it? He might have known better than
to trust that fat fellow. Letting on he
knew nothing about children, and all the
while making a business of stealing them.

Mr. Muggins groaned. Well, it was no
wonder. Hadn't he given the stranger to
understand that he was sick of his three
lovely children? Hadn't he told him he
wasn't even going to name the baby? Poor
little kid! No father and mother to look
after it now, only a fat man and his wife;
and maybe not even them. Oh, what a
life!

Once more Mr. Muggins drew near the
tenement where he dwelt, but this time
his steps did not falter. He was indifferent
to his fate. Mrs. Muggins couldn't think
any worse about him than he thought about
himself. Why hadn't that truck smashed
him instead of the pushcart?

About the doorway was gathered a group
of the neighbors. As he approached, Mrs.
Phelan who, with her husband, a longshore-
man, had the rooms just beneath, made a
rush for him. "Gee whiz! Where you
been? You're gonna ketch it! Mis' Mug-
gins has been havin' a coupla dozen fits
about you!"

"Oh, has she?" responded Mr. Muggins,
dully. "Well, that's all right! She can have
fits if she wants, can't she?"

"You wait! You'll find out!" was Mrs.
Phelan's ominous rejoinder.

"Aw, dry up!" growled Muggins, elbow-
ing his way inside. "Dry up and blow
away!"

Slowly he climbed the stairs. The palms
of his hands were moist, and he rubbed
them against his trousers irritably.

Doggone! What was he commencing to
get stewed up about? He hadn't tried all
the shops yet. Tomorrow he'd find the
kid, sure, so Mrs. Muggins had better not
be so smart and have her fits ahead of time.

As he neared the landing above, his
heart began to pump violently; it infuriated
him. With a sudden resolution he threw
back his shoulders and stalked into his
apartment with a bravado he was far from
feeling.

At his entrance Mrs. Muggins looked
around from the pot she was just stirring,
and fixed him with her eye. "So! You
decided to come home at last, did you?
Well, where's the baby?"

Mr. Muggins, loaded to the muzzle with
information all ready to fire at Mrs. Mug-
gins about the infant in question, suddenly
found himself mute. Finally, after opening
and shutting his mouth several times, he
threw up his arms and emitted a guttural
sound.

"I should think so!" remarked Mrs.
Muggins, scornfully. "You ain't fit to be
a parent! You ain't even fit to keep
chickens! Three lovely children, and you
go and leave one of 'em with a feller you
never seen before."

Mr. Muggins gaped at her. "What's —
what's that?" he gasped, falling limply
against the door jamb. "Why — why who
told you?"

"I told myself. I seen him. Maybe if
I hadn't a-seen him he might have gone off
with the baby, not knowin' whose it was.
Then what would you have done?"

DOROTHY PHILLIPS

Star of Allen Holubar's
Drama Eternal

Man — Woman — Marriage

ASSOCIATED First National Pictures, Inc., is a nationwide organization
of independent theatre owners who foster the production of more
artistic pictures and who are constantly striving for the betterment of
screen entertainment.

First National is ever on the look-out for the best pictures made — pictures that are
different, distinctive. For this reason it exhibits the attractions made by independent
stars and producers, artists who are producing pictures in their own studios unhampered
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First National accepts their work for exhibition purposes strictly on its merit as the best in
screen entertainment. In this way it is able to offer you exceptional pictures. That's what
the First National Trademark stands for. Look for it on the screen of your theatre.

cAssociated First National Pictures, Inc.

cAsk Your Theatre Owner If He
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And Three Lovely Children —

(Concluded)

Once more Mr. Muggins gave vent to a
throaty rumble.

"I was comin' through the square," went
on Mrs. Muggins, "on my way home from
leavin' the wash at Schultz's, thinkin' to
s'prise you, when who should I see settin'
on a bench by the fountain but Mr. Schultz
hisself with my baby on his lap. He was
pokin' his finger in and out of her mouth
and snickerin' to beat the band just as
though it mightn't have choked her. I
could a-shrieked. But I didn't. No, seein'
it was Mr. Schultz I just went up and
snatched her away from him quick, and
my, but he looked scared. And then he
told me you'd give him the baby to hold
while you went and got some more milk.
What'd you want more milk for? You
knew she didn't get no more till noon
time."

"Why, I 1 — — " said Mr. Muggins,

"I don't know. I — I guess I was afraid
she'd yell. Gee, I'm glad you found her.

I 1 thought she was stole. So that

fellow was Schultz, eh?"

"Yes, and he's got the grandest store on
Spring Street, and he's terrible fond of
children. Me and him had quite a chat.
He walked home with me. I told him all
about your pushcart and everything, and
he says, oh, yes, he remembered you sayin'
how you were ruined, and maybe you could

stop around and see him 'cause he had a
pushcart he didn't use no more account of
gettin' a motor delivery wagon. And then
he says it wasn't right not to name the
baby something anyhow."

Mr. Muggins coughed. Crossing the
room he picked up the infant and held it
in front of him. The scared blue eyes met
his solemnly, the little mouth puckered.
Mr. Muggins looked away uncomfortably.
It seemed almost as though she knew.

Turning, he faced Mrs. Muggins. "Sure
thing we got to name her! What color did
you say the cart was, eh?"

"I didn't say. I don't know. But you
can paint it up, can't you, like you did the
other one? That looked swell!"

"Swell? Ha! Wait till I'm through
with this one! Sure thing we got to name
the baby. Or I tell you what, we'll take
her down with us when we go for the cart
and let that there Schultz name her hisself.
Gee, ain't it great not to have no troubles?"

"Grand!" agreed Mrs. Muggins. "Didn't
I tell you you'd git on your legs again?
The idea o' fussin' so! Even if you hadn't
a-got a cart, you gotta good home, ain't
you? Sure you have."

"Sure I have!" echoed Mr. Muggins,
hugging the baby tighter than he ever had
before. "A good home, and three lovely
children!"

-=s£&)^— —

If They Wrote Those Interviews as They
Sometimes Happen!

THE Editor called me in. "Well,"
he said, "we're pretty hard up for
personality stories this month. So
hard up you'll have to go get a story
out of that prize simp, Seraphonia Sour-
apple."

I went to Miss Sourapple's home. It
was an apartment house overlooking River-
side Drive — overlooking it entirely. I
walked up to a man who was cleaning the
brass plate near the door that read ' ' Superba

Apartments" "Does Miss Seraphonia

Sourapple live here?"

The man shifted his gum. "Her? Oh,
sure. Three flights up — the elevator ain't
runnin' today. "

When I reached the apartment three
flights up I became convinced the Sour-
apples were having cabbage for dinner that
evening— and decided not to stay. I rang
the bell. A scurrying sound within. A
voice: "Ma — go answer that bell. I bet
that's the guy from the magazine. "

A frightened woman came to the door.
She had an apron on. "Come in," she
said in a scared voice.

Seraphonia entered. "Hello!" she said.

"Hello," I returned brilliantly.

"Was there any particular story you
wanted to get about me? " she yawned after
a short pause — it couldn't have been more
than three-quarters of an hour.

"Oh, no, not any particular story," I
stammered. "That is, not any particular
story. "

"That's good," she gurgled. "Then we
can just talk and be real chummy, can't
we? By the way, I wish you would spell
my name right. The last time there wasn't
any i. And will you tell that Answer Man
not to say my eyes are gray? They're
really blue — sapphire blue. Remember
that, old man, if you can.

"And if you're not writing any particular
story about me, I wish you would mention

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

my library. My books — both of them. I
have the most wonderful li — no it isn't
here now; it's being done over — a library
has to be done over ever so often, don't
you think? Last year I had it done in
blue, but this year it'll be in green. You
get so tired of the same old books, otherwise.

"My hobby is — next to reading — skiing.
I dearly love to skii. I fell for skiing, in
fact, the very moment I tried it.

"I study French. That is, I did up to a
week ago. Then the teacher didn't come.
It seems that he had heard I was a movie
actress and went to the theater to see my
latest super-feature. The next day they took
him to Mattewan. He was crazy about
me — imagine!

"What do I think about getting those
highbrow authors to write stories for
pictures? Well, I think they pay them too
much money, for one thing. Why, one bird
I never heard of actually got a thousand
dollars for a story. They could get just as
good stories in other ways. Now, I wrote
a perfectly dear little story — just dashed it
off between scenes — that was all about a
little girl who lived on a farm and went to
the city to visit some rich relatives. While
she was there she met the villain. It goes
on like that until finally the poor girl comes
back to the country to die. I've always
wanted to die — "

"How I should love to see you," I in-
terrupted.

" In pictures," she finished. "Oh, listen —
you don't have to go yet, do you, old dear?
Have a cigarette — have a cigar — have a
pipe! I'm sorry, but that's all I can offer
you. I'd send you home in the car but
I'm having the monogram changed. The
one I had didn't look well so I bought a
perfectly stunning coat of mail — I mean
coat of arms — for it. Please don't forget to
say my eyes are blue — sapphire blue, old
bird! Toodle-oo!"

Photoplay Magazine— Advertising Section

The Woman Who
Came Back

{Continued from page 64)

Dorothy Davenport Reid, who even
though she is now Mrs. Wallace Reid, had
the prior distinction of being a niece ot
Fanny Davenport and consequently a mem-
ber of one of the oldest and greatest theat-
rical families of this country, told me the
other evening that she still remembered
hearing that Victory Bateman had more
men in love with her than any other woman
in New York.

I went to see her — of course I went to see
her. I could hardly wait for the day of our
appointment.

Let me tell you what I found.

A short, plump little woman, in a mag-
nificent short kimono of white embroidered
silk, over a rustling petticoat of peacock blue
taffeta — the recognized negligee of twenty-
five years ago. Her face looks neither
younger nor older than the fifty-five years
she is credited with. Her hair is dyed a very
pretty shade of golden and is carefully
dressed. Her skin and hands show signs of
the care a lady gives them.

The only thing that remains of her once
famous beauty is her eyes. Her feet and
hands are very tiny and when she weighed
ninety pounds must have been exquisite.

But her voice — her magnetism — her dis-
tinction— her power of expressing herself
and getting over a point!

The voice is a bit blurred — but it is still
there, so that beneath its golden tones the
plump little figure herself faded away, and I
saw instead the slender, beautiful woman
who had once been as great and as famous as
any of them.

Her face has a really remarkable sweet-
ness. Everything has been burned away
except the kindliness, the warmth and un-
derstanding.

What does she care for motion pictures?
What does she care for the visions of the
youths of today?

Can you imagine for one instant how lost
she is in this new field, robbed of the weap-
on of her voice and the spontaneity of her
acting and the inspiration of her audiences?

Yet even so, she is successful.

She told me that it took her weeks of con-
centration to stop turning around whenever
the director spoke to her.

At least she has lived.

I did not ask her much about why she was
in pictures. I did not ask her how she hap-
pened to begin at the bottom. I did not
ask her anything of her private life — either
now, or in the past when I knew she had the
reputation of being the gayest, most feted,
merriest of all the stars on the Gay White
Way. I am pretty hard-boiled as an inter-
viewer. But I couldn't.

A few facts she dropped as she talked —
much illness, trips to Australia, times in
New York when her own lack of business
ability held her back as she grew older.

But it seemed to me impossible to connect
the two. The new generation of motion
picture fans will accept her almost as a new
identity.

Her gracious manner, her dignity, her
past fame were too much for me.

I only felt somehow that she shouldn't be
there. That she shouldn't have to bother
with this new angle. That she should be
somewhere in a lovely home of her own,
among her own people, able to sit back in
lavender and old lace and "remember."

Or that, like Mrs. Fiske, she should still
be playing suitable roles on the New York
stage.

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Hidden Children of the Screen

{Continued from page 65)

the diversion of materials and labor to war
work. It is shown that production of peace
time goods suffered greatly during the war,
and that to make up this handicap every
worker must double his efforts in order that
production may keep up in the "race" with
sales.

Cartoons of a motor race between "Pro-
duction" and "Sales" illustrate this with the
score board tabulating the steady gain in
sales and falling off in production.

The film is really an arraignment of the
employes, but in order to prevent hard feel-
ing and antagonism, an element of good
humour has been maintained throughout.
The employes are enlisted as actors in many
of the scenes and even a touch of the tragic
is utilized to make a lasting impression of
the results of carelessness and waste. No
book could as graphically portray the start-
ling things that occur around a big factory,
no matter how well managed, as the film.

It is shown that expensive parts of
machines are tossed into waste boxes and
dumped into the refuse heap by careless
mechanics, at the firm's expense; that so
many dollars might as well be thrown out;
that bushels of costly machine parts are
picked up each month in the plant yards,
thrown from the windows at stray cats and
dogs by employes. It is shown how one
employe threw a machine part at a dog, two
stories below, and struck the gardener on the
head, almost killing him.

The office loafer is treated to a picture of
himself in "action," the noon hour flirt and
the girl who powders up for an hour or two
in the wash room — on the firm's time. The
slight error that can be made in the assem-
bly of an intricate machine and the cost of
the error to the firm is visualized dramati-
cally and with a high degree of human in-
terest.

Several thousand employes saw this film
together and the effect was said to be almost
electrical! The film had accomplished what
lectures and tracts had failed to do because
of the dramatic aspect of realism possible in
motion pictures.

As a connecting link between employer
and employe, the moving picture is assum-
ing surprising importance. A score of big
industrial firms are now producing "an-
nuals" which are shown at the yearly con-
ventions of salesmen and dealers, in which
the most interesting and important charac-
ters in the business are actors; the past year
is pictorially reviewed and the policies for
the forthcoming year are presented briefly
and in pictures that combine the animated
drawing and the cartoon.

One middlewestern manufacturer of elec-
trical devices has had seven reels of films
produced within the past year visualizing
the inner workings of intricate water pumps
and farm lighting systems for the benefit of
employes. These pictures are of the new
X-ray type and rip off the top of the
machinery and reveal its intricate parts
in motion just as in action under actual
working conditions.

Over forty large industrial concerns have
built model projection rooms into their
plants for the instruction and entertainment
of employes. Standard projection machines
with seating capacity of up to 900 are fea-
tures of these "theaters" and the pictures
shown range all the way from Burton
Holmes to animated cross section drawings
of cash registers or sewing machines.

Frequently a comedy is presented and not
infrequently a five-reel feature drama.

It has been found possible to train
"green" mechanics by means of the screen.
Many operations of machines can better be
shown and the reasons why made clear by
the picture that shows processes in motion,
thus obviating the necessity of stopping

work to train a new man or using up the
valuable time of one already proficient.

In any large machine plant the operation
that falls to the average mechanic is simple
and brief. He may not know what the man
at the next machine is doing and it has long
been realized that this is not a healthy con-
dition. Consequently, they are depending
upon movies to convey to the operator a
general idea of what he is doing and more
important yet, why he is doing it; also the
relationship of his operation to the work of
the next man and the man ahead of him as
well as to the finished product. Five
hundred or more men can be taught at one
time by means of the screen.

Several important manufacturing con-
cerns are accumulating libraries or pictorial
catalogs of their patents which may be pro-
jected on short notice for the benefit of
lawyers or experts. One electrical company
is contemplating the production of a master
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Every advertisement In rnOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

ioi

The Sign on the Door

{Continued from page 40)

At the door of the night court they
parted.

Devereaux watched the girl go down the
street. He shrugged his shoulders and
turned away whistling.

But the significance of that night was to
hover long.

*******

WITH the honestly-won foundation of
fortune gleaned in the hills of Wyom-
ing, Bill Gaunt, now known as "The Col-
onel," and Lafe Regan found themselves
established financially and politically in
the busy whirl of the metropolitan affairs
of New York.

There was now a Mrs. Gaunt, a pretty,
soft sort of woman. From Mrs. Gaunt one
got the impression that she was something
that the Colonel had acquired in a lighter

The Sign on the Door

NARRATED, by permission, from the
First National photoplay from the play
of the same name by Channing Pollock.
Adapted by Mary Murillo and Herbert
Brenon. Directed by Herbert Brenon with
the following cast:

Ann Hunniwell ) M t i j

Mrs. Lafe Regan \ Norma Talmadge

Lafe Regan Charles Richman

Frank Devereaux Lew Cody

Colonel Gaunt David Proctor

"Rud" Whiting, the District

Attorney Paul McAllister

Helen Regan Helen Weir

Alan Churchill Robert Agnew

"Kick" Callahan Mack Barnes

Inspector Treffy Lew Hendricks

moment along with the city polish which
now obscured but did not obliterate the
characteristics of the cattle rancher that
was.

The Gaunts were seated in their luxurious
living room, the Colonel reading a news-
paper, when the butler announced the ar-
rival of "Mr. Lafe Regan and some gentle-
men."

It was the nominating committee of their
party, headed by Regan on the joyous
errand of notifying his friend Gaunt of
his choice as the party's candidate for the
governorship.

Frank Devereaux, now the representa-
tive of the Devereaux millions, a still gay
bachelor, with a dash of politics as a side-
line and diversion, was a member.

The formalities of the notification of the
chosen candidate were soon over and
Devereaux lingered to chat with Mrs.
Gaunt, while his fellow committeemen
went into Gaunt's study.

Devereaux looked Mrs. Gaunt overap-
praisingly. This was the beginning of
another conquest.

When Lafe Regan returned to his subur-
ban residence he sprang lightly up the steps
and cheerily into his big library.

Ann Hunniwell, now private secretary
to Lafe Regan, sat in the big study typing
at papers concerned with the affairs of the
party.

Ann worked with a deft, smooth, well-
poised manner. She looked up as Regan
entered.

"Well, Sir! We notified the Colonel."
Lafe was jovial and happy about it.

Ann smiled her appreciation of his
mood. Then she went on with her work,
bending over her typewriter.

Lafe Regan stood looking at her worship-
fully from a distance.

Ann was far more than just a secretary-

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102

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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The Sign on the Door

(Continued)

stenographer to Regan, although until now
he had not let himself realize it. The impul-
siveness that he brought with him out of the
big west welled up in him.

"Ann."

It was the first time he had called her
that. She looked up at him.

"Ann — I want you to marry me."

In a moment Lafe Regan had Ann in his
arms.

When Helen Regan, once the babe aban-
doned by her mother in that remote cabin in
Wyoming, came tripping into the library she
found them there in oblivious embrace.

"Why, father!"

Lafe laughed at his daughter. He stepped
back gravely.

"Helen, Ann is to be your new mother."

Ann drew Helen to her with maternal
tenderness.

There were hours when Ann was sorely
beset by conscience. She felt that she
should tell Lafe about the episode of the
years before at the Cafe Mazzarin, but she
could never bring herself to it.

The time came when Colonel Bill Gaunt,
the nominee for the governorship, found it
necessary to sail for Europe on a business
errand. Mrs. Gaunt stood waving farewell
to him from the pier head as the liner was
warped out into the bay.

Then Mrs. Gaunt turned away and
walked out to the street. A limousine was
waiting. The shades were drawn about the
windows. Mrs. Gaunt stepped in beside
Frank Devereaux.

Affairs were flowing with the even tenor
of domestic happiness for the Regans. It
was one afternoon in the big library when
Ann was sitting, child-like, on Regan's knee
with his big arm around her when the butler
entered. Ann jumped up with a start.

"Mr. Devereaux to see you, sir."

"Show him in," Regan instructed.

"Committee business, I suppose," he ob-
served to Ann.

Devereaux entered and Regan rose to
greet him.

"You haven't met my wife yet — Mrs.
Regan."

Ann stood motionless as Devereaux
moved a step nearer to her for the presenta-
tion. She nodded her head very slightly.

"Why, yes, I have, dear. I've met Mr.
Devereaux before. I was employed in his
father's office once."

Helen Regan came gaily in and rushed up
to greet the smart Mr. Devereaux, with a
vast girlish effusiveness.

Devereaux returned the girl's warm greet-
ing with the sleek sort of matinee hero flat-
teries best calculated to sustain her interest.

After Devereaux was gone, Regan found
his wife standing at a window staring out,
unhappily. He went up to her.

"Dear — I — I wish you would not have
Mr. Devereaux at the house again."

"Why — what's the matter with Dever-
eaux?" Lafe was quite unsuspicious.

"Oh, well," Ann passed it off at that.

While they were talking of him there, out
at the curb at the edge of the grounds Helen
was standing chatting with Devereaux at
the step of his car. He found the promise of
a youthful conquest enticing.

Lafe Regan was sitting in his club in the
city soon after when a page boy, seeking
him, came up with a wireless.

Regan opened the message, read it,
dropped his hand to his side and whistled
softly to himself, in expression of surprise.

Waldron, a fellow clubmember and inti-
mate, also a member of the nominating
committee, noted Regan's excitement.

"What's up, Lafe?"

For answer Regan showed him the mes-
sage, which said:

"Arrive tomorrow on personal business;
shall need every ounce of your friendship."

"I wonder what's up?" Regan mur-
mured, hardly intending to ask a question in
his speculation.

"Don't you know?" Waldron spoke as
though surprised at Regan's ignorance.
"Everybody's heard it — Devereaux and
Gaunt's wife." -

Regan was shocked and amazed, thinking
too of himself in an earlier day in a similar
unhappy situation, and his friend Bill
Gaunt at his side, in the hills of Wyoming.

Regan went home with his heart full.

"You are right about Devereaux," he
said to Ann. "He's a damned scoundrel."

Then he told her of the message from
Gaunt and what Waldron had told him at
the club.

"I'm sorry — sorry for the woman," Ann
ventured. She was thinking perhaps of
herself.

"Women like that aren't worth it."
Regan snapped it out.

Ann froze up. There was a great fear in
her heart. Now she could never tell Regan.

"Lafe — I think you'd better keep out of
this." Ann was pleading.

"Keep out of my friend's trouble? Not
me." Regan was calmly determined.
"Once Gaunt helped me. I was through
this once myself, with Helen's mother."

A deep stillness fell on the room.

"I never forgive." Regan set his jaw.

Ann shuddered.

"Devereaux called up this afternoon and
wanted to come out," Regan said after a
pause. "I told him not to come out, that
we would not be here."

But hardly had Regan finished when the
bell rang and the butler came in announcing
Devereaux.

"We are not at home." Regan was crisp
and hard. He was surprised, too, that
Devereaux should call not expecting to find
him in.

"You can't do that, Lafe— you can't re-
fuse suddenly, without any reason."

Without waiting a word from Regan she
turned to the butler.

"Show Mr. Devereaux in."

Devereaux was unperturbed by the cool-
ness of his reception.

"I'm motoring through to Greenwich for
dinner — I thought I'd step in for a drink."

Ann called the butler forward.

"Scotch," said Devereaux with cool
assurance.

The butler turned to Regan. Regan
shook his head.

"I'll have some mineral water," said Ann,
hastening to cover the impending break.

"This is goodbye," said Devereaux as he
lifted his drink. "My man is looking up a
boat for the Orient. I want to leave for
San Francisco in a day or two."

"I have to go up and dress for dinner,"
said Regan significantly. Rising and turn-
ing his back on his unwelcome guest Regan
went upstairs.

Devereaux, cap in hand, walked toward
the door with Ann following. He extended
his hand, which she ignored.

Looking out through the French window
leading to the garden Devereaux saw Helen.

"Mrs. Regan!" There was the mockery
of homage in his tone.

"Yes."

"I'm sure you will want to be very consid-
erate of me, since I have been so considerate
of you — ."

Devereaux paused to let the unfair advan-
tage of his words sink in.

"So may I go out this way?" He nodded
toward the French window.

He went blithely away, with Ann stand-
ing watching him with fear in her heart.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Sign on the Door

(Continued)

In the garden and concealed from view of
the house he met Helen. She rushed into
his embrace.

"You wouldn't have gone without seeing
me!"

Devereaux released her gently with reas-
surances.

"Slip away and have dinner with me."
There was banter and flattery in his air.

"Oh, I'd love to, but I can't."

The girl flung herself back into his arms.

"But I love you, I love you," she cried.

"I'm going away, and I want to take you

with

Devereaux's voice was vibrant.

"Tell your father you won't be home to-
night."

"Oh, I can't, I can't."

Devereaux crushed the girl to him.

"But you must. You must. I am going
to take you with me. "

Ann, coming down the stairs, looked out
into the garden. She saw Helen in Dever-
eaux's embrace.

Ann went out toward them, flaming with
anger.

"Mr. Devereaux — leave this place at
once."

Devereaux drew back with defiance.

"If you do not leave at once I shall have
to call my husband."

Devereaux sneered at her.

"Lafe," she called.

Devereaux turned red with an access of
rage. He stepped toward Ann, as she
started to raise her voice in a call to Lafe
again.

"If I go, will you promise to say nothing
to Regan?"

"If you promise to stay away from
Helen."

"All right." Devereaux agreed, but did
not surrender.

He started toward the garden.

Helen stood watching him. Ann came
up and putting an arm about the girl drew
her to her.

Helen tore herself away.

"We were to have been married."

Ann smilecf. Helen stamped her foot.

"You are in love with Mr. Devereaux
yourself!" she cried out in accusation.

Lafe Regan came out attired in dinner
clothes. He stopped, struck aghast at his
daughter's words. What could have come
to this girl's attention that made her fling
that charge at Ann?

"Here's father now," said Helen, defiant
and accusing. "You called him."

Lafe Regan, covering his internal con-
fusion, decided to pretend that he had
heard nothing.

A quick thought came to Helen.

"Father, can I go stay all night at
Marjorie Blake's — she's here with the car
for me to go to dinner at her house?"

Marjorie, a chattering, giggling young-
ster, appeared and chimed in with more
coaxing.

Regan, abstracted and concerned with
other thoughts, nodded assent.

As the girls started away Ann again
drew Helen to her.

"You see you are my daughter — the one
I never had — and I'd give my life to save
you a tear."

"Yes Mother Goodbye." Then

Helen and Marjorie hurried away.

Out at the remote side of the garden by
the tennis court, abandoned, dejected and
disconsolate, sat Allan Churchill, boy
admirer of Helen, neglected by his lady-fair
all the day. Allen kicked his racquet on
the ground and put his head in his hands.

Ann turned to go into the house. Regan
stopped her with a word.

"Ann — who did Devereaux come to see?"

She smiled at Lafe reassuringly and shook
her head.

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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

104

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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The Sign on the Door

(Continued)

"How well have you known Devereaux?"
His eyes searched her.

Ann swallowed hard.

"You know I was in his father's office."

Regan looked at her in silence for a
moment before he spoke again.

"It's hard for me to understand how a
fellow as busy as Devereaux is could have
overlooked you."

"Lafe, I won't stand your suspecting
me." Ann was at the point of tears.

Desperate with jealousy and suspicion
and fear Regan went on, measuring his
words like a lawyer at cross-examination.

"Now tell me. When Devereaux came
here today, whom did he come to see?"

Ann turned from him desperate. He
followed.

"You have been afraid since the first day
he came here."

Ann made no reply.

"There are some things that a man can-
not forgive."

There was a grim threat in Regan's voice
that cut deeper than his words.

Ann was distracted.

The telephone bell rang with a sharp
shrill chirr.

Regan went to the phone. The voice of
Colonel Gaunt answered.

"Where are you now?" Regan was still
tense.

"In the council room at the club," Gaunt
replied. "I'm leaving here in ten minutes
and I will even my score with Devereaux
before I return."

"For God's sake, wait — don't do any-
thing until I come — wait until I get there —
promise now."

Gaunt, in the club council room alone, put
down the phone and sank back into a chair.

When Regan hung up his receiver and
turned to Ann his mood had changed.

Impetuously he went up to Ann and
seizing her two hands, kissed them.

"Ann, you said I suspected you. I
believe in you as I believe in God!"

Regan hurried away to Gaunt.

Strolling in the garden and down the
arbor toward the tennis court, delaying
their departure were Marjorie and Helen,
busy with confidences. They were almost
at the court when Helen stopped Marjorie.

"I am going to leave you when we get
to town — I'm going to meet Mr. Devereaux
at his apartments at 8 o'clock."

Marjorie thrilled. The girls turned and
hurried to the house. When they had
departed, weary and heartsore Master
Allan Churchill, chafing from his disap-
pointed wait at the tennis courts, strode off
across the grounds, then came to a stop as
Ann cheerily greeted him.

"Why, Allan — the girls have gone to
town."

Allan, paused, glum.

"Yes," he answered. "I heard Helen tell
Marjorie that she had a date to meet Mr.
Devereaux for dinner at his apartments."

Ann hurriedly consulted the city tele-
phone book, located Devereaux's address,
consulted the time tables, and phoned for
a taxi to take her to the next train into the
city. Anything, at any cost, must be done
to prevent Helen falling a victim to the
vicious Devereaux.

At the club in the city Lafe Regan found
his suffering and miserable friend, Colonel
Gaunt. Their meeting was that of true
friends under the stress of trouble. Their
conversation was brief. Masterful Regan
now dominated the situation.

"Years ago, you did the same thing for
me. Now leave this to me."

Regan walked out and Gaunt sat with
his face buried in his hands.

At his apartment Devereaux was super-
vising the packing of trunks and bags by

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Sign on the Door

(Continued)

his valet, Ferguson. He phoned to the
office an order to prepare dinner for two.

The valet, about to put Devereaux's
revolver into a bag, reached to tear a bit
of newspaper for packing material. His eye
lighted on a line of interest — the name of
Colonel Gaunt among the day's arrivals by
steamer. He handed it up to Devereaux.

Devereaux leaped up with a look of terror.

The telephone rang sharply.

Nervously Devereaux took up the phone.
He found the attendant at the office on the
wire.

"A lady to see you, sir."

"Oh — send her right up."

In a flash Devereaux's manner bright-
ened. His thoughts of peril were van-
quished in anticipations of a new conquest.

"That will be all for tonight, Ferguson,"
he said, dismissing his valet. "And don't
butt in in the morning until I send for you."

Devereaux took a quick look about to
see the place in proper order to receive his
expected guest. The shining revolver
caught his eye. He put it into a cigarette
humidor and covered it with the lid.

At the table he lettered a card with a
sign reading, "Do not disturb me."

A knock came at the door. Devereaux
sprang up to open it.

Ann Regan stepped in, facing the amazed
stare of Devereaux. She looked quickly
about.

"You had an appointment with my
daughter at 8 o'clock. Where is she?"

Devereaux answered with a shrug of his
shoulders and displayed his watch, which
indicated the time considerably past the
hour of eight.

Ann's eye caught the bedroom door,
closed. She ran to the door, jerked it open
and looked in. There was no one there.

Devereaux, struggling to hold his temper,
grinned at her.

Ann snatched at the telephone. He
intercepted her.

"If you send for your husband I shall tell
him everything."

"What's everything?" Ann was desper-
ate and defiant.

"That we were arrested in a raid at the
Cafe Mazzarin."

Ann started back in terror.

Devereaux turned to a cabinet. He pro-
duced an old photographic print and handed
it to her. It was the flashlight made at the
raid, the one he bought of the photographer
that unhappy night long before.

Ann glanced at it, then tore it across.

"That will do you no good. I have the
negative. Photographers call that a print.
Your husband might call it proof."

Both of them started when the telephone
rang. Devereaux hastened to the instru-
ment before Ann could reach it. Both
expected a call from Helen.

Devereaux, listening an instant, shouted
an answer.

"Mr. Devereaux's not in — not home until
midnight."

He was trembling when he hung up the
receiver and turned to Ann.

"It's Lafe Regan."

There was a hesitant pause and silence.

"You know what it would mean for him
to find you here."

"I'd tell him the truth."

Devereaux laughed harshly.

"He'd kill you," Ann cried.

"And he'd divorce you," Devereaux
returned.

Devereaux was alarmed now. He was
tiger-like in his movements as he paced
about. He insisted that Ann should leave,
at once. She was yielding. She stood with
her hand on the doorknob when a loud
bold knocking came.

In a flash Devereaux leaned forward and
turned the key.

"Who's there?"

Ann darted a frenzied look about. Dever-
eaux pushed her through the bedroom door,
tossed her gloves after her and closed it.
Then he unlocked his entrance door.

Angry Lafe Regan strode in.

The two men stood facing, both high
colored with the passion of rage.

"I have been talking with Bill Gaunt.
I told him you weren't in town — to give
you time to get away."

"You are very kind — wonderfully anxious
to save my life, aren't you?"

Regan's hands clenched.

"I'm wonderfully anxious to save my
friend's life and his good name."

Regan looked Devereaux hard in the
eyes. Neither flinched.

Ann, standing crouched by the bedroom
door, listened tense and breathless.

Devereaux decided his next move was
conciliation.

He picked up his traveling cap, which
lay on the table between them and started
for the door.

"Come, I'm ready."

But Regan did not move.

"I've got no right to let you feel that you
can run amuck in other men's homes and
get away with it. Take off your coat. I'm
going to give you a damned good thrashing."

Devereaux made a supreme effort at self-
control.

"Not here, and not now."

"This is my time," grimly replied Regan,
clinching his fists.

Devereaux moved casually to the edge
of the table and carelessly drew the cigarette
box to him. He lifted the cover and pulled
out a cigarette, which he tapped lightly on
the lid. He kept his eyes on Regan.

Regan moved toward him.

In a flash Devereaux snatched out his
revolver and covered Regan.

Regan looked at him with contempt.

"Put down that gun."

Devereaux held it on Regan.

"Are you going, now?"

"You bluffer — I saw you try that same
kind of trick on my wife, and she has always
hated and despised you," Regan sneered at
Devereaux.

"I'm pretty well fed up on protecting
women." Devereaux's lip curled in insinu-
ating emphasis.

Ann, crouching at the door, felt impelled
to rush out and end this impending struggle,
to save her husband, if possible, regardless
of what the consequences to her might be.
She turned the knob and opened the door.
Regan's back was turned toward her. She
paused.

"You protect women!" Regan's voice
was thick with the acid of derision.

"When you suspected me, did you ever
suspect her?" Devereaux whipped at Regan.

Regan winced like a man struck with a
lash.

"Suspect her?"

"Yes, that she had been my mistress."

Regan lunged.

"You liar!"

The powerful westerner seized the hand
that held the revolver and the battle was
on. The athletic Devereaux and the brawny
Regan whirled about the room.

In the next room Ann drooped limp as a
doomed thing in the horror of it.

Round and round they went, cinched and
tearing at each other. Regan shook him-
self free and victorious with the revolver in
hand. He drew up, breathing heavily.
Devereaux snatched a heavy carafe from
the table and hurled it at Regan's head.

Regan ducked and fired.

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The Sign on the Door

WHAT FILM STAR
DO YOU RESEMBLE

See Page 43

(Cotiti

Devereaux crumpled on the floor.

Regan stood dazed a moment at the
swiftness of the end. Then he stepped over
and lifted Devereaux's hand and let it drop
back to the floor.

"Dead."

Regan straightened up and turned as
though to step to the telephone and call
the police, when his eye caught the lettered
sign on the table, "Do Not Disturb Me."
A grim, understanding smile swept over
Regan's face.

Regan backed up to the door, listening.
There was no sound.

In the bedroom Ann was breathlessly
following Regan's movements, fearful that
any moment he might enter the bedroom
and find her there.

Regan kneeled by Devereaux's body and
was about to put the nickeled revolver in
the dead man's hand. He saw the markings
of his own finger prints and paused. Taking
a handkerchief from his pocket he wiped the
gun, then put on his gloves and placed it
as he had first intended. Methodically he
obliterated every possible finger print on
objects he had touched.

Then Regan adjusted his hat and coat
carefully, picked up the sign and went to
the door.

Regan pinned the sign on the outside,
took the key, and gently closing the door,
locked it and tiptoed off down the hall.
A few moments later he glanced quickly out
from the side door of the apartment house,
then nonchalantly walked down the quiet
street.

Regan found Gaunt, depressed and
gloomy, waiting.

"You need not worry about Devereaux.
He will not bother you any more."

When Regan had left the hall, Ann ran
to the door and tried frantically to open it.
She found herself locked in, inescapably
imprisoned with the dead man. She hated
him living. She loathed him dead.

There was no way out. But there was a
way perhaps to save Regan the conse-
quences of the killing.

On hands and knees Ann crept up to
Devereaux's body and took the revolver
from his hand.

There was a half mad gleam in her eyes
as she arose.

Ann took the telephone receiver from the
hook and listened till she heard the answer-
ing "Hello."

Then in a frenzy of energy she upset
tables and chairs, demolished vases, and
standing off, screaming, fired two shots in
the direction of Devereaux's body.

A few moments later Callaghan, the
proprietor and Ferguson, Devereaux's but-
ler, broke into the room, finding Ann half
swooning, with the revolver in her hand.

She pointed with the gun toward the
body.

"I have killed him. He attacked me and
I killed him."

Ann's hair was torn and tossed about her
shoulders and her gown was in tatters.

An hour later the room was again in
order. The police records had been made.
The autopsy was completed. The wit-
nesses, except Ann, had been questioned,
and Rud Whiting, the district attorney, felt
he was beginning to get a glimmering of
the case.

Whiting sat in Devereaux's room regard-
ing Ann's card — "Mrs. Lafe Regan."

He had sent a plain-clothes man to bring
Lafe Regan, instructing the officer to give
Regan no information of the purpose of the
summons.

Whiting began to question Ann.

"You confess to the murder of Dever-
eaux?"

"He attacked me and I killed him."

Even- advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

nued)

Ann's answer was calm. She was depressed
and in most abject woe, but collected.

"Mr. Devereaux had an appointment
with a woman at 8 o'clock. Were you that
woman?"

"Oh, no, sir!" Ann cried out in her
sincerity. "I came to protect another
woman."

"Why didn't you tell your husband you
were coming?"

Ann froze into a silence. She saw the
accusing look come into the district attor-
ney's eyes, and cried out in defense.

"Because he was jealous of Mr. Dever-
eaux."

The district attorney smiled a shade.
Ann wilted, realizing now what she had
further implied.

"Yes — ridiculously jealous."

Whiting, with a considerate doctor-to-
patient manner, invited Ann to tell the
whole story of the killing her own way.
She, unsuspecting, hurried out her planned
recital. When she had done, Whiting
turned on her calmly.

"And although this sign was on the door
when you came you did not see it?"

He held up Devereaux's ill-starred plac-
ard lettered, "Do Not Disturb Me."

Ann, embarrassed but determined, shook
her head.

"And what did you do with the key?"

"Where did you get the revolver?"

Ann was harassed beyond recovery. She
had no answers for the district attorney's
shower of questions that she had not
anticipated.

"Who was the other woman?"

A cry broke from Ann's lips, but she gave
no answer.

"You are lying. There was no other
woman!"

Ann dropped back, stunned as by a blow.

The officer sent for Regan announced his
arrival, and at Whiting's motion, Ann was
led into the bedroom before Regan was
ushered in.

Whiting waved Regan to a chair and,
standing quietly before him, told of the
murder of Devereaux. Regan listened.

"Are you sure he was murdered?" Regan
asked very coolly at the end of the district
attorney's story. "Devereaux was in rather
a mess. He might have killed himself."

"He might," replied Whiting, "but we
have the murderer."

"Impossible," exclaimed Regan, losing his
control.

"The murderer was locked up with the
dead man — and has confessed."

There was a terrific, tense silence after
that. The door of the bedroom opened.
Ann stood before them.

Regan started, unable to believe his eyes.

He turned himself slowly to the district
attorney.

"I killed Frank Devereaux."

Ann ran out, her arms extended.

"Oh, it isn't true!"

Regan ignored her.

"I came here," he went on, addressing
Whiting, "for reasons of my own and I
killed him. I came through the side door
and up the stairs. I pinned the sign on the
door, locked it on the outside and went
back to the club."

"It isn't true, it isn't true," Ann screamed
and sobbed.

"How long were you away from the
club?" asked Whiting.

"About forty minutes."

The district attorney motioned to a police
officer to phone to Colonel Gaunt. Gaunt
excitedly declared that Regan had been
there with him the whole evening, being
absent not more than five or six minutes
at any time. Whiting repeated his words
to Regan.

Photoplay Magazine— Advertising Section

The Sign on the Door

(Concluded)

"Your confession's smashed, Mr. Regan.
You are not the first man who has tried to
wish himself into the electric chair to save
a woman."

Lafe Regan stood morose, tortured. Ann
being blamed despite his truth and all his
efforts!

The phone bell blurred its shrill.

"A lady, says she had an appointment
with Mr. Devereaux at eight," the office
announced.

"Send her up," Whiting ordered.

'You must not. You must not," Ann
protested hysterically.

The district attorney put his hand on
Ann's arm to quiet her.

"If this woman came here by appoint-
ment and you came here solely for the
reason you say you did, it may save your
life."

"Don't. Don't!'' Ann screamed.

At the order of the district attorney
everyone in the room was drawn back into
the corners and all the lights turned off
save one illuminating little spot about the
center table where he sat.

The door opened and Helen Regan
unsuspectingly walked into the room and
looked at Whiting.

"Mr. Devereaux is gone — I'm his man —
I'm to take the message."

"Tell him I've changed my mind — tell
him I'm sorry but I couldn't go with him,
not when I knew how it would hurt mother."

Ann and Regan, neither able to restrain
themselves longer, rushed at the girl. The
lights flashed up. Helen screamed with
alarm. Marjorie, her companion, ran into
the room at this moment, standing in
startled surprise looking at the faces about
her.

"I didn't come to see Mr. Devereaux,
father, see, father, I brought Marjorie — oh

father, you must believe me!" the girl cried
out. "Mother, make him believe me!"

Ann put an arm around the girl. Regan,
ashamed of all that he had believed when
he found Ann the woman in Devereaux's
room, stepped toward her. He was about
to speak when the attention of the room
was arrested by the entry of a police officer.

The policeman held a photograph, torn
to bits and now pasted together.

"This girl was not the motive," he said,
facing Ann. "You caught him making love
to another woman and killed him. You
knew him before. You dined with him,
travelled with him. You went to a ques-
tionable resort with him."

The officer displayed the patched photo-
graph, the old picture of Ann, Devereaux
and a policeman, at the Cafe Mazzarin raid.

"I went to that place a good girl and
I came out a good girl, and if there's a God
in Heaven, I'll find a way to make you
believe me!"

Regan stood unheeding.

"I believe you, Mrs. Regan." It was the
district attorney speaking. "I was the
waiter."

Whiting pulled out the end of his watch
chain and displayed on it a little old gold
ring set with a tiny emerald.

"I was an assistant district attorney then,
and we'd been trying hard to get things on
the Mazzarin, so I went there as a waiter."

Regan's heart swelled up.

"I killed Devereaux."

"And it was in self defence — I saw it from
the door."

Whiting smiled and looked down at the
emerald ring.

"Any jury will acquit your husband on
the evidence, Mrs. Regan," said Whiting.

And Whiting, as the prosecutor, ought to
know.

One of Anatofs Affairs

(Concluded from page 72)

her mother, her company, and all a star's
privileges and responsibilities.

She has only just begun to come into her
own. "Forbidden Fruit" provided her
greatest opportunity. Before Cecil deMille
gave her trie part, there was a long list of
leads, from the O. Henry Vitagraph two-
reelers with Edward Earle, to Marshall
Neilan's "Go and Get It." In "The
Furnace" she first made the Paramounters
believe in her ability; and, as they h d
never doubted her beauty, they straight-
w y annexed her. Since the first deMille
picture and "The Affairs," she has done two
pictures opposite Wallace Reid, "The Love
Special" and "Too Much Speed." Now
she is playing with Tommy Meighan in
"Cappy Ricks."

And then — Europe. All of England and

Italy and France for her "location." And
she will not be out of place anywhere. She
would fit in, this girl, in almost any old-
world surrounding. You can see her, can't
you, in England, as fresh and as dewy as
their own countryside. Or in Italy, with
the slumbering fire of bygone romance in
her soft eyes. All the old gods will smile,
for they have seen other ingenues of other
nations with faces as gentle and as mys-
terious as hers. She will tread softly, on
familiar ground — for she has been there

before

"Goodbye!" said Agnes Ayres. "Just when
I am getting so I know my way around
New York again after a year in Hollywood,
we go off to Boston! Don't forget — when
I return, we'll have lunch!"

H. G. Wells Demands Pictures For Education

THE use of films as an adjunct in the
course of education has become an
established fact. Each day brings an exten-
sion to the demand. In its latest outcrop-
ping, it is worked inextricably into Mr.
H. G. Wells' scheme for universal instruc-
tion. While Mr. Wells, who is numbered
among the famous British authors who have
written scenarios for production, has never
been backward in acknowledging an enthu-
siasm for the "cinematograph," his favorite
term for it, he has recently come forward
in a series of articles which have just been
published, with a tremendous assertion of
the necessity of this manner of instruction.
He appeals for a world-syndicated system
of education, to be supplied at the fountain-

head by the highest authorities in each
branch of study, and to be distributed to
schools all over the globe. This instruction,
such of it as needs demonstration, the
sciences, mathematics, and so on, is to be
given with the aid of the motion picture.
He points out the value of slow motion
photography in intricate and complex
experiments. To quote Mr. Wells himself,
who can say more in fewer words than
most humans, "I ask for half a dozen pro-
jectors in every school and for a well-stocked
storehouse of films." Now, Mr. M. P.
Industry, let censorship do its worst.
There is a wholesale contract for you.
Who will help make it practicable?

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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that it would be quite all right for you to
wear it on the tennis courts or at an in-
formal tea. An organdie frock, while charm-
ing, cannot of course be worn for sports —
its dainty crispness would last hardly a half
hour.

Bobbie, Greencastle, Ind. — Personally, I
have no objection to bobbed hair on a young
person. If you are only nineteen — always
provided your face is not too round and
plump — you might bob it. You of course
know better than I whether it might be be-
coming. One thing: you must make up
your mind to bear with a good grace all dis-
putes about your age. You are still young
enough to resent anyone taking you for a
child of fifteen. Norma Talmadge wore
bangs with her bobbed hair. This is a
matter of taste.

Dorothy J., New York City — In this issue
there is a sketch of a charming sports cos-
tume which would not be difficult to adapt.
It might be very effectively developed in
linen. For instance, a cool green shade; the
skirt and pockets would not, of course, be
fringed, but the pockets might be frilled;
and the belt would be also of linen. This
may be worn over a blouse of white organ-
die, silk, or georgette.

AlmaBrown, Los Angeles. — Indeed, yes,
the two-skin fur neckpieces are smart. You
may buy them in mink, sable, fox, etc.
They add just the right touch to one's street
costume. Canton crepe is much in use this
season for suits and wraps. I myself have a
coat-dress of grey embroidered with silver.

I. L., Louisville. — I must confess I have
not seen many frocks of tricolette in thesmart
shops this summer. It was in use last year
but it does not seem to have endured. Or-
gandie, voile, dotted Swiss and taffeta are
favored fabrics.

Frances \V., Washington. — There have
been many developments of the Directoire

mode this season. By this is meant the cos-
tumes receive their inspiration from those
worn during the Directoire period in French
history. For instance, gowns were short-
waisted and hats high-crowned. This mode
is not becoming to every one. I should ad-
vise you to study yourself carefully before
investing in a Directoire wardrobe!

D. O. H., New Haven. — I cannot advise
you as to perfumes. It is entirely a matter
of taste whether jasmin or lilac is more
appropriate. Although the bottle does not
always indicate the worth of the perfume,
still, I must ask that you do not overlook
that delightful array of perfume containers
illustrated on page 33.

J. P., Natchez, Miss. — Mydear, I can only
advise you that a well-bred woman seldom
adopts extremes in mode or manners. She
is quietly gowned, conservatively coiffed.
She does not go in for elaborate jewelry or
fussy shoes. Undoubtedly she has her little
whims of costume as well as of character,
but she does not hold them above the good
taste which should mark the ensemble.
Your letter indicated your intelligence and
common sense. I am sure if you follow
your own inclination you will never be guilty
of bad taste.

L. A., Windsor, Can. — You wish to know
what a school girl's wardrobe should include.
First of all, it should include nothing that is
not the quintessence of simplicity and good
taste. You should have a dark skirt of
plain blue or plaid serge, with at least two
middy blouses; a simple frock of serge or
tricotine preferably with pleated skirt;
dress of white voile or some similar mate-
rial, with short sleeves and round neck, for
festive occasions; low-heeled, round-toed
shoes and slippers, and not more than two
hats. Some schools have certain rules about
clothes; in that case you will have your
problem settled for you. But if you and
your mother follow the above list more or
less faithfully you will not feel out of place
in the most "exclusive" girls' school. In
fact, did you know that the more exclusive
the school, the simpler and more modest the
girl's wardrobe must be? I am much in
favor of the pleated skirt for school girls;
the low-heeled shoe, and the middy blouse.
I am not in favor of the compulsory school
costume; it tends to destroy individuality.
You may think that it is impossible to be
prettily dressed if you follow my list; but
you will find that a simple dress is really
much more becoming than an elaborate one.

Mrs. Dodd A., Wyoming. — I can think of
nothing more charming for a little tot than
a wee frock of white handkerchief linen for
state occasions; gingham for everyday and
organdie for second best. If you will write
lo me I will advise vou in more detail.

Moving Pictures in the Church

UNDER proper direction, moving pic-
tures can be made a help to devo-
tion," says the Rev. Johnston
Myers, of the Emanuel Baptist Church,
Chicago, in the Temple Advocate "They
can be used as means for conveying religious
truths. They can be so guided that they
will give correct views of truth and of God.
This has been done on many occasions in
many places. Why should not the church
take advantage of everything which is
modern and good? If the moving pictures

Every adrertisenient in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

become part of our Sunday evening worship,
we will guard them carefully and see that
only that which is appropriate to Sunday
and to the church shall appear.

"The fact is that we did not understand
the moving pictures, and just now we are
beginning to appreciate their value. We
may receive truth through the eye as well
as through the ear. The pictures appeal to
the eye as the human voice does to the ear.
Under the proper direction, moving pictures
can be made a help to devotion."-

Photoplay Magazine-

What Is a Director?

{Continued from page 54)

-Advertising Section 109

Danish Coarse Pores

Rex Ingram :

What is a director? I should say he is the
best illustration of the term fall-guy that I
can think of. He is the one upon whose
shoulders all of the blame invariably falls if
the picture is not good — and if it is good, he
is not always the one to get the thanks.
This truth is universally accepted among
directors. My sympathies are all with those
directors who stand or fall on their own
merits. I have too often seen a good picture,
and the career of a promising director,
ruined through so-called supervision.

Thomas H. Ince :

The director occupies the same relative
position in motion pictures today as does
the virtuoso in the realm of music — both are
the interpreters of artistic creations. With-
out them, we could have neither good music,
nor good moving pictures. The better the
director, the better the interpretation.
Good directors are not alone interpreters,
however, just as virtuosos often extend
their work into the field of composing.
Directors become creators as well, by origi-
nating and developing supplementary ideas
which often enhance the artistic, pictorial
and dramatic values of a photoplay.

Penrhyn Stanlaws :

"The limit!"

Frank Woods, supervising director
for Lasky:

A director is the artist who paints the pic-
ture on the screen. The story is the paint,
the actors the brush, the film the canvas,
but it's the director that makes the picture.

Cecil deMille :

Reginald Barker:

A director bears the same relationship to
a motion picture production that a general
bears to an army — at least he should. That
is, his should be the final word. He should
consult with his various lieutenants, but he
should have the authority to make the final
decision. This is necessary in order to get
that unity of thought and purpose which
should characterize every work of expres-
sion.

Elinor Glyn:

This is a subject upon which I fear I have
very little knowledge. Knowing the work
only of director Sam Wood — who directed
my first screen story — thus far I am forced
to think the whole tribe of them perfect
darlings and angels. I have such rosy spec-
tacles on about them that I fear my opinion
in the subject is worth very little.

Percy Hilburn, cameraman:

In the first place in order to be a success-
ful director, you must wear puttees and
trick trousers. That erudite scholar, Will
Rogers, was the first to discover the rela-
tionship between the high cost of puttees
and their directorial popularity.

And incidentally, although it isn't of
much importance — you have to know more
about the technique of motion picture pro-
duction, dramatic values, stories and acting
than anybody else in the world.

But that's easy.

A man who never sleeps.

Because if he superintends a staff of bril-
liant and infallible scenario writers, tem-
peramental stars and un-temperamental
actors, helpless extra people, nut camera-
men, artistic artists, impractical technical
directors, excitable designers, varied elec-
tricians,and carpenters, strange title writers,
expert cutters; if he diplomatically placates
the financial department and the check
signers; if he endeavors ultimately to please
the exhibitors, the critics., the censors, the
exchange men and the public, it's a perfect
cinch he won't have time to sleep.

Hezi Tate, assistant director to
Cecil deMille :

A director is the one man in the world
who is always right.

He can never be wrong as long as he's got
an assistant.

A director is a combination of Providence,
Jekyll and Hyde and Dotty Dimples.

To anybody who isn't a director, a direc-
tor is like a man riding in a swell limousine
is to a fellow walking.

You can swear at 'em, but you wish you
were one.

A director is a liberal education, a foster-
father and an inspiration. Sometimes the
only reason you don't wish he'd drop dead is
because you'd be out of a job.

At other times, if he's a great director,
you worship him with all the ardor of a
novice for a master.

(I hope Cecil deMille doesn't see this.)

Jesse L. Lasky :

I decline to answer the question "what is a
director?", but I will gladly state what, in
my opinion, a director should be: First of
all, a director to be successful, must com-
bine efficiency with artistry, blending the
two by the exercise of judgment and finesse,
and knowing instinctively when to cease
exercising one quality and when to begin
employing the other. He should at once
possess the qualifications of a dramatist, of
an actor; should be a good executive and
have a sympathetic understanding of human
nature. Above all he should possess good
taste and the courage to use it at all times,
even when carried away by dramatic in-
stinct which might suggest defiance of con-
vention.

Florence Vidor :

What a question to ask a woman whose
husband is a director!

However, I consider directors the "raison
d' etre" for a large percentage of present day
screen stars.

They are the school masters who lead us
to understanding and accomplishment.

Will Rogers :

The director is the whole works. No, I'll
take that back, because the director has to
have a good story. It's about 50-50. When
it comes to dividing up the 100 per cent re-
sponsibility for a picture, you can split it
two ways. You don't have to worry about
anybody else.

A good director, with a good story, can
make a good picture, with bum actors.

King Vidor:

A director is the channel through which a
pictures reaches the screen.

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What Is a Director?

{Concluded)

Frank Lloyd :

The director is essentially an interpreter.
To him is given the task of making logical
and understandable, pictorially, what the
author and the continuity writer set down in
writing. He must understand how to make
the public understand. He must be as
fluent with his camera as the author is with
his pen. He must possess a sound sense of
the mechanics of the motion picture, of
composition, of continuity, of sequence. He
must be an adept in the art of achieving log-
ical climaxes. Logic is perhaps the weakest
point of the modern motion picture. The
blame is no more on the director than the
author, the author than the director. He
must be a barometer of public opinion.

Questions and Answers

(Continued from page 78)

H. A. R., Vallejo, Cal. — Sorry, but "the
soldier who notified the mother that her
son was in the hospital," in "Humoresque,"
was only a minor character, and was not
in the cast. Wesley Barry is about thirteen.

Ed\vard S., Cleveland. — So Mary
Thurman is your favorite. You are not
alone in your choice, Edward. Miss Thur-
man is one of the few young ladies of my
screen acquaintance who can act as well as
she looks. And, if you have seen Mary,
you know what that means. She is now
with Lasky playing opposite Roscoe Ar-
buckle in "Should a Man Marry?" Her
last picture for Allan Dwan was "The
Broken Doll." Mary isn't married.

G. T. S., Elmhurst, L. I. — Your town
has been immortalized. Director John
Robertson built the little Scotch village of
Thrums for "Sentimental Tommy" there.
Ethel Clayton was with Lubin in 1912.
Norma Talmadge made "Janet of the
Chorus" for Vitagraph about the same
time. She joined that company in 1911.
Constance used to play in comedies with
John Bunny. Mae Murray is Mrs. Bob
Leonard. They live and work in Man-
hattan.

Jo. — I am not really a cynic, you know.
A cynic is sour on the world, and I am not.
My temper merely curdles occasionally,
that is all. Photoplay's Studio Directory
furnishes the addresses of most of the lead-
ing companies. If you wish to locate a
certain player tell me his name and I'll tell
you his company and then you can run
your pink-tipped index finger down the
Directory until your charming almond-
shaped eyes arrive at some conclusion.
Hence: Conway Tearle, Selznick. Now —
go ahead!

Silly Bill. — You are, indeed, he said
cordially. Are you making a specialty of
the autographs of all the Toms in pictures?
Tom Moore, Goldwyn, was born in Countv
Meath, Ireland, in 1886. He's five feet
ten inches tall and weighs 142 pounds.
Tom Mix was born in Texas — he won't say
when — but he admits that he's five feet
eleven and a half inches tall and weighs 176
pounds. He has been in films since 1908.
Tom Meighan is a native of Pittsburgh, is
six feet tall and weighs 190 pounds. We'll
save Thomas Carrigan and Thomas Chat-
tertoon for next month!

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Questions and Answers

{Conti
Phyllis E., Fremantle, Western Aus-
tralia.— I haven't had a letter from Fre-
mantle before, but I hope to have many
more. Your opinions were most interesting.
I believe the rest of that verse beginning
"The mind has a thousand eyes, the heart
but one" is "But the light of the whole
life dies, when love is done." This was
quoted in Cecil deMille's "Don't Change
Your Hsuband." "The Whispering
Chorus" was adapted from a book by
Perley Poore Sheehan; "Old Wives for
New" from the book by David Graham
Phillips. Elliott Dexter opposite Marie
Doro in "Lost and Won." Reviving all the
old successes, aren't we?

R. E. M. C, Frisco. — I asked for your
full name, but I didn't know you had so
many. "Rosemary Elsie Monica Camille!"
What do they call you when they're in a
hurry? It's Raymond McKee, not McGee,
and he was born in 1892.

F. H. D., Michigan. — It's Juanita, not
Anita Hansen. I wouldn't be too sure
you're related to her — there are more
families than one named Hansen. Juanita
is not married. Her latest Pathe serial is
"The Yellow Arm," which features Warner
Oland and Marguerite Courtot. Hal Reid,
Wally's father, died last year. His mother
lives in Atlantic Highlands, N. J.

Helen O'Connor. — The cast of "Silver
Threads Among the Gold" follows: Martin,
Richard Jose; his wife, Mrs. R. E. French;
Tom, Guy D'Ennery; Mary Chester, Dora
Dean ; Judge Walcott, Jack Ridgeway. There
would be silver threads among the gold in
my hair if it wasn't for the fact that I am a
dashing brunette. Enid Markey opposite
George Walsh in "Sink or Swim." Wonder
which they did?

M. C. B., New York.— Well, Wally
MacDonald used to answer all his mail
personally but now that he is married to
Doris May I don't know whether he does
or not. Perhaps Miss May gives him her
letters for male admirers to answer and in
return he hands his from fans a la femme
over to her. I'll have to find out about
this.

Elsie. — I am not a dear young man, you
know. And I cannot send you my photo-
graph because I haven't had any taken for
years. Of course, if you'd like to have one
of me at the age of eighteen months I'll
be delighted to oblige you. George Stewart
is Anita's only brother. Address him care
Miss Stewart.

Barry McC, Greenwich. — So you have
wavy hair. Is it permanent? The wave,
not the hair. Will Rogers is married and
has three children. Jimmy is the one whom
you have seen in pictures. Ralph Graves
doesn't divulge his age but he is probably
in his early twenties. His most recent
appearance was in Griffith's "Dream
Street."

Just Happy. — I am breaking a rule when
I answer you, because you didn't sign your
name and address. But your letter seemed
sincere. (You told me you thought I must
be young, otherwise I couldn't write so
much and so well.) Rudolph Valentino was
Julio and Alice Terry was Marguerite in
"The Four Horsemen." Rex Ingram
directed it from the novel by Ibanez.
There is a story about Ingram in this issue.
Valentino was divorced not long ago from
Jane Acker, an actress. Kenneth Harlan
and Harrison Ford have both been divorced.

nued)

May Lillian Vernon, New Zealand. —
I received the book of views and appreciate
your thoughtfulness very much. Please
write to me again and ask more questions.
As far as I know, there are no film studios
in New Zealand. You'll have to come to
America to see pictures in the making.

Dimples, London. — It is a mystery to
me how the heights and weights of stars
can possibly interest you. Is it that you
wish to attain the same number of feet and
pounds as your favorite? In that case
you'll have a rather hard time trying to
decide which of these you should emulate.
Norma Talmadge, five feet two inches;
110 pounds. Gloria Swanson, five feet
three inches, 112 pounds; Nazimova, five
feet four inches, 125 pounds; Mary Miles
Minter, five feet two inches, 112 pounds;
Mary Pickford, five feet, 100 pounds. At
least none of these ladies will cause you to
enter the heavyweight class.

G. L. I., Newark. — Did you ever hear
Sarah Bernhardt's quoted recipe for keeping
young? "I live mostly on eggs, drink
champagne always, and get all the fresh air
lean." Fortunate Madame! She has made
several pictures — in fact, she made one of
the first Famous Player films: "Queen
Elizabeth." William Russell is thirty-four.
He was divorced from Charlotte Burton,
an actress, several years ago. Russell is
still with Fox, west coast studios.

Gwen Smith. — You say your questions
are all short and catchy. You are quite
right. I can't say whether or not Mary
Pickford will be very apt to write to you.
She is pretty busy right now. But I
believe she'll send you her picture and that
it will doubtless have some of her writing
on it. Our most recent address for Zoe
Rae is Universal City, Cal. She is ten
years old. Just about your age, isn't she?

Dorothy W., Columbus. — Marguerite
Clark and Constance Binney are not
related. I think they look just a little bit
alike. Marguerite has one sister, Cora,
who has never been on the stage or screen.
You've probably seen Faire Binney in
pictures. Norma Talmadge in "The
Branded Woman." Barbara Bedford and
Lillian Hall in "Last of the Mohicans."

Edna R., Philadelphia. — July is just
as good a month as any for crossing the
continent to see the movie stars in Holly-
wood, if you must see the movie stars in
Hollywood. And not any better, either.
Wally Reid will probably not have returned
from New York, however. You want
Photoplay to publish a picture of Joseph
Schenck? Well, I'll speak to the Editor
about it. I don't know what good it will
do, but I'll speak to him.

R. E., Lansing. — Some of you sub-debs
seem to think that I have asked questions
about you, the way you send me detailed
descriptions of yourselves. I suppose the
news that your eyes are blue and your hair
is bobbed should send me into transports
of joy, but somehow it doesn't. Ethel
Clayton is five feet five and weighs 130.

D. B., Detroit. — You selected several
shy young ladies this time. Neither Peggy
Hyland nor Vivian Martin will tell us her
age. However, I can promise you that
Peggy and Vivian are quite, quite young.
Bill Farnum is not going to retire from
pictures. Peggy Hyland is not married.
Miss Martin is. She has a little daughter.
Her latest picture is "Mother Eternal."

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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

I 12

L. M., Detroit. — Gravity brings down
everything in the world except prices. I
have had many persons tell me that prices
have come down, too. But I am far from
convinced. Charles Ray is married. His
wife's name was Miss Grant. Charlie is
six feet two and a half inches tall. I
haven't heard of an Elaine Turner, but can
oblige with the addresses of Elaine Hammer-
stein and Florence Turner.

Questions and Answers

(Concluded)

M. E. E., Pittsburgh. — Lila Lee has
just signed a contract for another year with
Lasky. She was the heroine of "The Charm
School," with Wally Reid. Charles Mere-
dith opposite Constance Talmadge in
"The Perfect Woman." Meredith is mar-
ried.

D. M. W., Tarboro, N. C— Of course,
your letter reached the waste-basket — did
you think I kept them all tied up in pink
ribbons? It didn't reach the waste-basket
before it was answered, however. Does that
make everything all right? "Behold My
Wife" was filmed in California. Mabel
Julienne Scott is now at Universal playing
the title role in Edna Ferber's "Fanny Her-
self." Miss Scott played opposite Lewis
Stone in Goldwyn's "Don't Neglect Your
Wife." She is not married. Milton Sills is
Gloria Swanson's leading man in "The
Great Moment." Wonder if he's Elinor
Glyn's ideal screen hero?

Lola R., Havana. — You think that be-
cause Wallace Reid is so handsome and such
a good actor and all that sort of thing, that
he must either stutter or speak through his
nose. He does neither, I assure you.
Wally's only shortcoming, to my mind, is
his passion for jazz which leads him to
believe that he is the world's champion
saxophonist. Perhaps he is, at that — but
then I have no fondness for that form of
noise. Reid will send you a photograph if
you write to him, care Lasky studio, Holly-
wood, California, enclosing twenty-five cents.

Margaret K. — In only one particular
was your letter correct: that part which
said I was a peach. As for the rest,
Dorothy Gish does not use an assumed
name, it's her real one. Gloria Swanson
is Mrs. Herbert K. Somborn, not Mrs.
Elliott Dexter. Marie Doro is Mrs. Dexter.
Thanks for your roses. I have had so many
rocks hurled at me this month, and just
when roses are so plentiful, too.

Lurline. — What an Alice-in-Wonderland
name. Did I dream it, or do you really
spell it that way? Anita Stewart's late
pictures have been "Sowing the Wind" and
"Playthings of Destiny." Anita is really a
charming person. She is very pretty, very
sympathetic, very human. What more can
one say?

Lionel. — If I am as bad as all that, I
wonder why all these people keep on writing
to me? I am neither bad nor brilliant. If I
were either, I would be a Great
Man. As it is, I'm only the An-
swer Man. Conrad Nagel?
Well, he was born in 1896, is six
feet tall and weighs 165 pounds.
He is married and the father of a
baby girl. Some of his more im-
portant pictures have been "The
Lost Romance," "Sacred and
Profane Love," and "Midsum-
mer Madness. " At present he is
working in the new Cecil deMille
drama mentioned elsewhere.

L. L. B., Evanston. I haven't seen
Robert Andersen for some time. His last
activity was as the director and actor of a
series of short comedies for Universal.
Then he went abroad for a vacation. He
first came into prominence as Monsieur
Cuckoo in Griffith's "Hearts of the World."
I believe he is not married.

A. K., Iowa. — Bill Farnum is,
right now, in Switzerland. He
has no intention of remaining
there indefinitely. He and Mrs.
Farnum went abroad for a few
months' vacation but will prob-
ably be back by the time you
read this; Farnum is still with
Fox. He's a great guy — one of
the realest in the film business.
The Farnums have an adopted
daughter.

Little Elsie, Illinois. —
Well, Natalie Talmadge would
never give her age but when she
and Buster Keaton applied for a
marriage license there was no
way around it, so Natalie had to admit that
she was all of twenty-four. Buster is one
year older. None of the screen Fergusons
are related: Elsie, Helen, and Casson.

KEEP

'EM OUT!

If vou're going

to boycott the

foreigners,

why

stop at the films?

French directors

Bolsheviki (imported)

London actors

Bolsheviki (domestic)

Swedish matches

Bernard Shaw

English jokes

Havana cigars

Russian dancers

Police dogs

Jap acrobats

Pekinese

Swiss watches

Ambassadors

Turkish cigarettes

Cork mavors

Verdi

Belgian monarchs

Caruso

Scotch

Puccini

Pilsener

Carpentier

Caviar

Viennese operettas

Crosse & Blackwell

Tea

Vie Parisienne

Coffee

Shakespeare

Brown Eyes. — If Gloria Swanson were
to object every time somebody told some-
body else that she had a double, she'd be
pretty busy. Gloria is one of the most
popular "resemblance" stars in pictures.
By the way, why don't you send in your
picture to our "Doubles" Contest? If you
really look as much like Miss Swanson as
your friends say you do, you may win a
prize. And the prizes are worth
winning. Vivian Martin is play-
ing in a New York farce, "Just
Married." Tony Moreno is not
making serials any more, so your
wish is granted. Mr. Moreno's
first feature for Vitagraph is
"Three Sevens. "

Mrs. J. T. L., Seattle. — Sor-
ry your letter has not been an-
swered before but I have been
simply swamped, as my sten-
ographer would say. You think
there would be less divorces in
the film world if all actors had
their wives for their leading
women, but I think there would
be more.

Helen Zimmer. — My dear child, I should
be delighted to put your picture in the Mag-
azine if I had anything to do with it. But
you see I am not the Editor. Besides we
only publish pictures of film people. I am
sure you'll be eligible some day, if you have
as much ambition at twenty as you have
at ten.

A. P. Granston, R. I. — Your demands
were much too modest. So modest that I
fear I can only answer five of your sixteen
questions. William Farnum and Pearl
White, Fox eastern. Antonio Moreno and
William Duncan, Vitagraph western. Mary
Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, and Charlie
Chaplin, their own studios, Hollywood, Cal.
Lillian and Dorothy Gish, Griffith, Mamar-
oneck. Tom Mix and Shirley Mason, Fox
western.

Florence. — I couldn't write
you a personal letter because you
didn't enclose stamp. You prob-
ably think me very niggardly,
but I assure you if I had to pay
postage on all the personal let-
ters I'm asked to write, I
couldn't save even fifty cents a
week. Gladden James is mar-
ried. What's more, he is mar-
ried to a nonprofessional. Which
would you girls rather be told:
that your favorite is married to an actress
whom you have seen, or to a person in
private life, whom you never will see?
Think it over.

Mrs. Jenny Jones, Brookline. — Only
too glad to answer you. Joseph Dowling
played the Patriarch in "The Miracle
Man." That was a wonderful picture,
indeed. Best wishes, and write again
wont vou?

B. S., Michigan. — You say you have read
so much about me. How — when — where?
Has anyone made me the hero in a book? I
should so love to be the hero in a book.
Can't some of you oblige me? Tom Mix is
married to Victoria Forde, who was well
known as an actress before she retired as
Mrs. Mix. No — Tom didn't appear in
"The Queen of Sheba," but he helped stage
the chariot race which was a feature of that
production. Mix is still making pictures for
Fox in their western studio. "A Ridin'
Romeo" is one of his latest.

Tina. — I believe you are one of those who
thinks Victor Hugo's "Laughing Man" is a
joke book. Constance Talmadge and
Dorothy Gish were married to John Pialoglo
and James Rennie respectively, December
26, 1920. Why do you wish the exact
date — going to send them anniversary
presents?

F. M. O., Cincinnati. — Many thanks for
your kind praise. I need it. Cullen Landis
is with Goldwyn. I wish, in return for
your good wishes, I could tell you that
Cullen is a confirmed bachelor, but he isn't
a bachelor at all. He and Mrs. Landis
have a little girl.

Dixie. — I wouldn't advise you to tell
your wife you don't like her new- dress.
She might develop an ardent desire to
please you and buy another. Vivian Reed,
not Violet Mersereau, played the Princess
in "Princess of Patches."

Margaret Phyllis. — Where are you
spending this vacation? Or perhaps I
should say, what are you spending? I shall
spend mine in Central Park feeding the
squirrels. Harmless and inexpensive.
Surely — drop in and see me whenever you
get around to it.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section i i 3

"Beauty Is Only
Skin Deep"

A GOLD BRICK always looks good. It has to.
Its promising appearance is its sole virtue.
Looks alone will not sell goods today. Merchandise
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Wise manufacturers seek the good publications
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This proves the value of advertising. Neither
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And it is distinctly to your advantage to be
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advertisements.

Read them regularly!

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

ii4

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

TufAi

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Marguerite Clark Art Panel — 5 Samples Sent With It

"Absence Can Not Hearts Divide." In dainty colors. Size,
28 x 7K inches. Price, 10c. Samples of Pompeian Day Cream,
Powder and Bloom, Night Cream and Fragrance (a talcum pow-
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Signed

Paris

26'icuic mars, 1921

' T"\ RUNETTE," one man will insist, and
r^ then belie his statement by displaying
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Intensify your type of beauty

The coloring of your hair, eyes and skin
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poudres and rouges, of exquisite softness
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These poudres and rouges are imported
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As an aid in selecting the tints that will
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we have prepared a booklet, "What is Your
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Study your own coloring

For 25c in stamps or coin, this booklet, to-
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Or send 10c in coin and you will receive
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Address your letter to F. R. Arnold & Co.,
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The World's Leading Moving Picture Magazine.

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Thomas H. Ince Special,

"The Bronze Bell"
By Louis Joseph Vance.

Douglas MacLean in "One a Minute"

Thos. H. Ince production

Fred Jackson's famous stage farce.

Ethel Clayton in "Sham"

By Elmer Harris and Geraldine Bonner.

George Melford's production

"A Wise Fool," by Sir Gilbert Parker

A drama of the Northwest.

Cosmopolitan production

"The Woman God Changed"

By Donn Byrne.

Wallace Reid in "Too Much Speed"

A comedy novelty, by Byron Morgan.

"The Mystery Road"

A British production with David Powell,

from E. Phillips Oppenheim's novel

A Paul Powell Production.

William A. Brady's production, "Life"

By Thompson Buchanan.

Dorothy Dalton in "Behind Masks"

an adaptation of the famous novel by

E. Phillips Oppenheim

"Jeanne of the Marshes."

Gloria Swanson in Elinor Glyn's

"The Great Moment"

Specially written for the star by the

author of "Three Weeks."

William de Mille's "The Lost Romance"

By Edward Knoblock.

William S. Hart in "The Whistle"

A Hart production

A story with an unforgettable punch.

"The Princess of New York"

A British production from the novel by

Cosmo Hamilton.

Douglas MacLean in "Passing Thru"

By Agnes Christine Johnston

Thos. H. Ince production.

Thomas Meighan in

"The Conquest of Canaan"

By Booth Tarkington.

Ethel Clayton in "Wealth"

By Cosmo Hamilton

A story of New York's artistic Bohemia.

Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle in

"Crazy to Marry" By Frank Condon

From the hilarious

Saturday Evening Post story.

Coming

4th

ANNUAL.

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11,200 of these theatres per-
petually have "the best show
in town".

That's why people
"Paramount Night is
Night Too!"

They KNOW!

Do you?

say:
Our

Cparamount ^pictures

Every advertisement in niOTOI'IAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

The World's Leading Motion Picture Publication

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE

JAMES R. QUIRK, Editor

Vol. XX

No. 4

Contents

September, 1921

Cover Design Betty Blythe

From a Pastel Portrait by Rolf Armstrong.

Rotogravure :

Nita Naldi Ralph Graves

James Kirkwood Lucy Fox

Ruth Roland Kathleen Ardelle

Elsie Ferguson

The Quest of Romance Editorial

That Octopus Gown (Photograph)

As Bebe Daniels Wears It.

A Latin Lover

Rudolph Valentino, Bewitching the Sub-deb.

Love Confessions of a Fat Man Roscoe Arbuckle

Why the Portly Husband Is Coming Into His Own.

An Impression of Alice Terry
Drawing.

The Three Musketeers

"Doug"D'artagnan and His Classic Company

Through the Little Door (Fiction) Jack Boyle 26

"Boston Blackie" Is Now With Photoplay Illustrated by Lee Conrey

Before and After Taking Buster Keaton 31

How Marriage Does Change a Person!

(Contents continued on next page)

Editorial Offices, 25 W. 45th St., New York City

Published monthly by the Photoplay Publishing Co.. 350 N. Clark St., Chicago, 111.

Edwin M. Colvin, Pres. James R. Quirk, Vice-Pres. R. M. Eastman. Sec.-Treas.

Yearly Subscription: $2.50 in the United States, its dependencies. Mexico and Cuba;
$3.00 Canada; $3.50 to foreign countries. Remittances should be made by check, or postal
or express money order. Caution— Do not subscribe through persons unknown to you.

Entered as second-class matter April 24, 1912, at the Postoffice at Chicago. 111., under the Act of March 3 1879.

Ralph Barton

(Photographs)

19
20

22
24
25

Photoplays Reviewed

in the Shadow Stage

This Issue

Save this magazine — refer to
the criticisms before you pick out
your evening s entertainment.
Make this your reference list.

Page 56

The Conquering Power Metro

The Old Nest Goldwyn

The Affairs of Anatol .... Paramount

Experience Paramount

Doubling for Romeo Goldwyn

The Golem Hugo Riesenfeld

Without Benefit of Clergy .. Pathe

Home Talent Associated Prod.

Salvation Nell First National

Wealth Paramount

Page 57

Journey's End Hodkinson

Carnival United Artists

A Private Scandal Realart

The Mother Heart Fox

Sowing the Wind. . . .First National

Lessons in Love First National

Desperate Trails Universal

Thunder Island Universal

Over the Wire Metro

The Great Moment Paramount

Page 83

Behind Masks Paramount

Scrap Iron First National

Live Wires Fox

The Bronze Bell .... Ince Paramount
The Beautiful Gambler. . . .Universal

One a Minute Paramount

Home Stuff Metro

Page 84

Children of Night Fox

The Fighting Lover Universal

Nobody ... Roland West-First Nat'l.

Fine Feathers Metro

The Twice-Born Woman. . . . Sonora
The Broken Doll . Associated Prod.

The Road to London Pathc

Aesop's Fables Pathc

Too Much Speed Paramount

A Kiss in Time Realart

A Voice in the Dark Goldwyn

Be My Wife Max Linder

Contents — Continued

Adela Rogers St. Johns
Gene Sheridan

Goodbye, Bathing Girl!

Phyllis Haver is Jilting the Seaside!

The Old Nest (Fiction)

From the Rupert Hughes Story, as Picturized.

Come On Back, Vivian!

The Missing and Missed Miss Martin.

Cheer Up, Pauline!

A Letter to the Champion Weeper of the Sobbies.

Filming the Classics Norman Anthony

As Modern Producers Would Stage the Balcony Scene.

The Romance of the Third Dimension

What "Caligari" Proves. Willard Huntington Wright

Pretty Soft to Be a Star, Eh? Helen Broderick

Marion Davies Tells the Truth About It.

Marion Davies as a Designer
Some Patterns Made by Herself

"How I Keep in Condition"
First of a Series on "Keeping Fit."

Last Chance to Vote!

Fourth Ballot Blank for the Photoplay Gold Medal.

Close-Ups Editorial Comment

West is East Delight Evans

Meeting California Players in New York.
Vamps of All Times

III— Diana.

Rubye De Remer

Svetozar Tonjoroff

Monte Blue
Theodore Roberts
Tom Moore

Rotogravure :
May McAvoy

Just a Little Home in California
Conrad Nagel

The First of the Immortals

On the Passing of George Loane Tucker.

The Shadow Stage

A Handier Reference of the New Photoplays

The Clothes of a Perfect Day Carolyn Van Wyck

Suggestions From Photoplay's Fashion Editor.

Dog in the Manger

A Fiction Contest Entry.

Adela Rogers St. Johns

Illustrated by J. Henry.

The Stars and Their Cars
What They Ride In to Market.

Why Do They Do It?

Letters from the Movie-goer Critics.

Questions and Answers

Plays and Players

News and Anecdotes from the Studios.

The Squirrel Cage

Some Midsummer Nuts.

Temperament

An Essay from a Star Himself.

The Girl Problem and the Movies

Miss Van Wyck Says:

Answers by Photoplay's Fashion Editor.

It All Depends—

Doing the Other Fellow's Job.

(Photographs)

The Answer Man
Cal. York

32
34
38
39
40

41
43

47
48
50

55
56
60
62
66
70

A. Gnutt 98

Thomas Meighan 100

Margaret Sangster 103
106

Sarah Lindsay 110

(Addresses of the Leading Motion Picture Producers appear on page 8)

What Makes

the
Underworld
Go 'Round?

Not merely crime and
lawlessness. Few authors
of current fiction can dc
scribe the good that burns
up the bad in the heart of
jail'birds, so well as

JACK BOYLE

author of the "Boston Blackje
stories.

"Boston Blackie" is now a
character in Photoplay's
fiction pages. In this issue
he appears in "Through
the Little Door,'1 but takes
an even more appealing
part in

"The
Gray Brothers1

in October
PHOTOPLAY

Order your copy from your
newsdealer

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Name

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When you write to .advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Millions of People Can 'Write

Stories and Photoplays and

Dorit Know It/

THIS is the startling assertion recently made by
E. B. Davison, of New York, one of the high-
est paid writers in the world. Is his aston-
ishing statement true? Can it be possible there are
countless thousands of people yearning to write,
who really can and simply haven't found it out?
Well, come to think of it, most anybody can tell a
story. Why can't most anybody write a story?
Why is writing supposed to be a rare gift that few
possess? Isn't this only another of the Mistaken
Ideas the past has handed down to us? Yesterday
nobody dreamed man could fly. Today he dives
like a swallow ten thousand
feet above the earth and
laughs down at the tiny
mortal atoms of his fellow-
men below! So Yesterday's
"impossibility" is a reality
today.

"The time will come,"
writes the same authority,
"when millions of people
will be writers — there will
be countless thousands of
playwrights, novelists, scen-
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paper writers — they are
coming, coming — a whole
new world of them!" And
do you know what these
writers-to-be are doing now?
Why, they are the men —
armies of them — young and
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women, young and old, by
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but they really learn
to write from the great,
wide, open, boundless
Book of Humanity!
Yes.seething all around
you, every day, every

Misa Helena Chadwick, famou3 Goldwyn Film Star, says:
"Any man or woman who will Irarn this New Method of
Writing ought to sell stories and plays with ease."

LETTERS LIKE THIS
ARE POURING IN!

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ClIARLEROl. PA.

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the most helpful to aspiring
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NAYLOR, Litfrary Editor,
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will find a ready market. The best
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H PIERCE WELLER. Man.
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Studio Directory

ASSOCIATED PRODUCERS, INC.,
729 Seventh Ave., N. Y.

(s) Maurice Tourneur, Culver City, Cal.
(s) Thos. H. Incc, Culver City, Cal.

J. Parker Read, Jr., Ince Studios, Cul-
ver City, Cal.
(s) Macl: Sennett, Edendale, Cal.
(s) Marshall Neilan, Goldwyn Studios,

Culver City, Cal.

(s) Allan Dwan. Hollywood Studios, 6642

Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.

(s) King Vidor Productions, 7200 Santa

Monica Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.

BLACKTON PRODUCTIONS, INC., Bush

House, Aldwych, Strand, London, England.
ROBERT BRUNTON STUDIOS, 5300 Melrose

Ave., Hollywood, Cal.
CHRISTIE FILM CORP., 6101 Sunset Blvd.,

Hollywood, Cal.
EDUCATIONAL FILMS CORP., of America.

370 Seventh Ave., N. Y. C.
FAMOUS- PLAYERS- LASKY CORP., Para-
mount, 485 Fifth Ave.. New York City,
(s) Pierce Ave. and Sixth St., Long Island

City, New York.
(s)Lasky, Hollywood, Cal.

British Paramount (s) Poole St., Islington,

N. London, England.
Realart, 469 Fifth Ave., New York Citv.
(s)211 N.Occidental Blvd., Los Angeles, Cal.
FIRST NATIONAL EXHIBITORS' CIRCUIT,
INC., 6 West 48th St., New York;
R. A. Walsh Prod.,

5341 Melrose Ave., Hollywood, Cal.
Mr. and Mrs. Carter Dc Haven, Prod.,
Louis B. Mayer Studios, Los Angeles.
Anita Stewart Co., 3800 Mission Road,

Los Angeles, Cal.
Louis B. Mayer Productions, 3800 Mission

Road, Los Angeles Cal.
Norma and Constance Talraadge Studio,

318 East 48th St., New York".
Katherine MacDonald Productions,
Georgia and Girard Sts., Los Angeles,
Cal.
David M. Hartford, Prod.,

3274 West 6th St., Los Angeles, Cal.
Hope Hampton, Prod., Peerless Studios,
Fort Lee, N. J.
(s) Chas. Ray, 1428 Fleming St., Los Angeles.
FOX FILM CORP., fs) 10th Ave. and 55th St.,
New York; (s) 1401 Western Ave., Hollywood,
Cal.
GARSON STUDIOS, INC., (s)1845 Alessandro.

St., Edendale, Cal.
GOLDWYN FILM CORP., 469 Fifth Ave., New

York; (s) Culver City, Cal.
HAMPTON, JESSE B., STUDIOS, 1425 Flem-
ing St., Hollywood, Cal.
HART, WM. S. PRODUCTIONS, (s) 1215

Bates St.. Hollywood. Cal.
HOLLYWOOD STUDIOS, 6642 Santa Monica

Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.
INTERNATIONAL FILMS, INC., 729 Seventh
Ave., N. Y. C. (s) Second Ave. and 127th
St., N. Y.
METRO PICTURES CORP., 1476 Broadway,
New York; (s) 3 West 61st St., New York,
and 1025 Lillian Way, Hollywood, Cal.
PATHE EXCHANGE, Patlie Bldg.. 35 W. 45th
St., New York. (s)Geo. B. Seitz. 134th St.
and Park Ave., New York City.
ROBERTSON-COLE PRODUCTIONS, 723
Seventh Ave., New Y'ork; Currier Bldg., Los
Angeles; (s) corner Gower and Melrose Sts.,
Hollywood, Cal.
ROTHACKER FILM MFG. CO., 1339 Diversey

Parkway, Chicago, 111.
SELZNICK PICTURES CORP., 729 Seventh
Ave., New York; (s) 807 East 175th St., New
York, and West Fort Lee, N. J.
UNITED ARTISTS CORPORATION, 729
Seventh Ave , New York.

Mary Pickford Co., Brunton Studios,
Hollywood, Cal.; Doughs Fairbanks
Studios, Hollywood, Cal.; Charles Chaplin
Studios, 1416 LaBrea Ave.; Hollywood,

Cal.
D. W. Griffith Studios, Orienta Point,

Mamaroneck, N. Y.
George Arliss Prod., Whitman Bennett
Studio, 537 Riverdale Ave., Yonkers,
New York.
UNIVERSAL FILM MFG. CO., 1600 Broad-
way. New York; (s) Universal City. Cal.
VITAGRAPH COMPANY OF AMERICA,
469 Fifth Ave.. New York; (s) East 15th St.
and Locust Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y., and
1708 Talmadge St., Hollywood, Cal.

Every advertisement in riTOTOri.AY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

(osmopolitan production

sa«

with-

Marion Davies

HE exquisite natural acting of Marion
Davies is the outstanding feature of
the superb new Cosmopolitan Pro'
duction "The Brides Play."

If you like a really beautiful, roman-
tic, dramatic picture, see "The Bride's Play."

If you have ever been a bride or ever hope to be
one, you will be enchanted by this fascinating
love- drama.

It contains two wonderful wedding scenes — one
in medieval times — replete with chivalrous knights
and radiant maidens. The other a modern cere
mony with all the beautiful rites.

"The Bride's Play" — a fateful "old world"
wedding day custom without which no lover can
be sure of his bride is observed at both weddings.

The effort of a discarded suitor to elope with
the bride and the startling act that saves her life's
happiness form the climax of this great picture.

"The sweetest story ever told" — as tender, as
idyllic, as superbly beautiful as Mendelssohn's
Spring Song.

The story of "The Bride's Play" by Donn Byrne
(author of " The Woman God Changed ") — ■
appeared in Hearst's Magazine, where it was read
by- over a million people. Scenario by Mildred
Considine. Directed by George Terwilliger. Seen'
ery and effects by the famous Cosmopolitan Scenic
Staff and under the direction of Joseph Urban.

Every girl — every woman will want to see "The
Bride's Play."

Ask the manager of your favorite motion picture
theatre to show this wonderful, exquisite photo-
drama.

It is a Paramount Picture.

Wlim you write to advertisers ukase mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Your skin

is what you make it

T T AVE you ever wondered why

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Edward Thayer Monroe

vamps are slightly passe have been induced by Miss Naldi to change their minds.

ITA NALDI — don't ask us if that's her real name! — is the newest celluloid
Those devotees of the cinema who have been of the opinion that

siren.

Donald Biddlc Keyea

YOU can judge a man named James by the number of people who call him
"Jim." Mr. Kirkwood is "Jim" not only to everybody he knows but to
many he has never met. He is just as good at directing as he is at acting.

Edward Thnyer Monroe

DUTH ROLAND is the most popular candidate for the throne and sceptre

of serialdom. With Ruth as the lovely heroine, the continued-next-Tuesdav

film entertainment remains the favorite indoor pastime of small bovs of all ages.

Victor Georg

SCORES of girls wrote to PHOTOPLAY begging us to put Ralph in the
art section. Then a mere man said he'd like to see a picture of this Graves
guy his best girl was so crazy about. And that's why it's here!

Edward Thayer Monroe

pHIS pensive profile belongs to Lucy Fox. Marshall Neilan has just enlisted

her as leading woman in his new production. Lucy came from a convent to

the films and her most important appearances have hitherto been in serials.

Alfred Cheney Johnston

IT IS TRUE that some girls become film stars who never were with the Follies;
but Kathleen Ardelle decided that it was better to follow the usual formula
and graduate from Mr. Ziegfeld's institution before beginning her screen career.

Edward Thayer Monroe

J7 LSI E FERGUSON: a new portrait. Her recent performances on the silver-
■*-' sheet have had all the charm and fire which marked her first celluloid appear-
ances. After making one picture in California, she is at home again in the east.

2 J washings haven't faded this organdie dress at all

77>|5 photograph taken alter the gown bad been
worn a year an, I quashed twenty-five time* ti lib
Ivory Flakes. Statement of owner of gown
on file in the oQic* of The Procter £r" Gamble Co.

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But the picture does not show the most
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IYOHY«w" FLAKES

Makes pretty clothes last longer

cUhe World's Leading Moving (Pi&ure Q^lagazine

PHOTOPLAY

Vol. xx

September, 1921

No. 4

The
Quest of
Romance

YOUR dictionary will define romance as the opposite of reality; an extrav-
aganza of fancy or imagination. As a matter of fact, nothing is so
romantic as reality itself.

Revealing the romance of reality has been the greatest spiritual
service of the screen.

Everything or anything is romantic to youth. Every full-blown moon is a
separate ecstasy, every street a thrill, every encounter a potential adventure,
every girl a possible Juliet, every lad a possible hero, any task the overture to
great discovery.

But the torches of fancy go out, one by one, and at middle-age men have
left only memories, and occasional dreams . . . and hum-drum. The word
romance has become the vain synonym of a transient love-affair.

The purpose of art through the centuries has been to restore this pristine
glow of life, yet only in a degree have the arts succeeded. They have all fallen
short of the goal in the degree in which they dealt with fancy, and not with reality.

The critics of the motion picture declared it a hopelessly plebeian amusement
because it was, at best, only photography. That is to say, it was bound forever
to reality.

And they did not realize that in that very fact lay the miracle! Like the
blue bird of happiness, romance is not to be sought afar. It is all about us!
Men, seeking romance in the syllables of big ivords, looking for it behind the
strange brush-strokes of futurist painting, listening for it in the cacophony of
moder?i music, have failed to remember that it dzvells in no Arcadia, but, con-
trariwise, nestles in every valley, walks down every avenue, perches upon every
hilltop, swings from every branch, beams from every hearth-fire, sings in the
song of every machine.

Tomorrow will proclaim what today grudgingly admits: that the greatest art
is the art which restores to the largest number of people the romance of life.

That Octopus Gown

OCTOPUS: A molluscous animal
having ten long arms furnished
with sucking cups by means of
which itattachesitself tenaciously
to other bodies, two of these arms being
longer than the rest. It is very dan-
gerous to men, as when it once entangles
them within its long, powerful tentacles
escape is practically impossible. It is
known also as the devil fish, seizing its
prey and holding them clasped against all
opposition. Men have met death often
in combat with the octopus.
This is the dictionary definition.
There isn't any definition — as yet —
of the octopus gown.

Hut the sartorial creation evidently
possesses most of the attributes of its
deep sea name-sake.

We thought the last word in "vamp"
gowns had been said.

But that was before Clare West — ■
special designer for Cecil B. deMille —
conceived the octopus gown, which is
worn by Bebe Daniels as the wickedest
woman in New York, which role she
plays in "The Affairs of Anatol."

The gown is unique in that it lacks
any feature of decolletage. You could
make all the costumes for the "Queen
of Sheba" from it — yet it is hailed as the
most seductive thing on the screen.

It is composed of exquisite pale gray
georgette, upon which are fastened the
arms of the devil fish in black chiffon
velvet. The arms are outlined with
enormous pearls and the two enormous
eyes in the black velvet head are also
of gleaming pearls. The sheath effect
beneath is of steel gray velvet.

The head dress is of loose strings of
pearls woven into the hair and fastened
in front with a large jet buckle.

It's a mighty deadly looking piece of
wearing apparel. Any man that ever
gets within reach of those arms is never
going to escape.

But will anybody want to?

To the left of you and to the right
of you — even above — you may
observe the young man whose
illustration of the amo conjugation
has almost completely engaged the
attention of the American sub-debs.
Rudolph Valentino played Julio
in The Four Horsemen — and
immediately the film world Knew
it had the continental hero, the
polishea foreigner, the modern Don
Juan, in its unsuspecting midst.
In the circle above : Signor Valen-
tino as Armand Duval amating —
we mean emoting — with Madame
Alia Nazirnova as Camille.

Valentino comes from Italy. He
ran away to America at the age of
eighteen and eventually became a
tango dancer. After various ad-
ventures he found his way to Holly-
wood and the film studios. And
there he remained, playing many
small parts until Rex Ingram
selected him for the role of Julio.
His most recent love-making oc-
curs, again opposite Alice Terry,
in Ingram s new production of
"Eugenie Grandet," from Balzac's
story.

Apeda.

"I m sure I don t see anything funny in that, said the red-
girl. "I think Roscoe Arbuckle is one of the loveliest men
screen. Just think, now, how restful and simple it would b
in love with a man like that!

NOBODY loves a fat man excepl a temperamental
woman."
Thus spake Roscoe in deep and solemn tones —
have you ever noticed how much funnier Roscoe
is when he's solemn than he is when he's funny? — and girded
himself about with the folds of a purple velvet dressing gown.

One foot, encased in a large but sightly bath slipper (my,
how intimate this story is beginning to sound!) actually
tapped the floor in emphasis and encouragement.

"Consequently, since women are getting more temperamental
every day, I predict — I prophesy — that the fat man is about to
have his day. He will be sought, chased, even mobbed,
because there will not be enough of him to go round — not
individually, but as an institution.

"Like the shrinking violet have we languished for lo, these
many years, but we are about to come into our own and maybe
a little bit of the other fellow's. I feel that I was born at
the auspicious moment for a fat man."

Having satisfactorily outlined his policy, Fatty leaned
back in his chair and encompassed me with that isn't-it-a-
grand-old-world smile of his.

We were lunching together in his bedroom.

I shall never be able to estimate just what percentage of
effect they had on me — those pongee pajamas. Of course I
had seen men in pajamas before. If you read the ads in the
magazines you can't help but see men in and out of most
anything. But I 'd never interviewed in them before.
"And I love pongee pajamas.

I suppose it is only fair to my husband to state that the bed-
room was a set — on stage three, at the Lasky studio. That the
pajamas and the dressing gown and even the bath slippers

Love

Confessions

of a

Fat Man

As told to
Adela Rogers St. John

ROSCOE

ARBUCKLE

were only his costume for a scene and
that we were almost aggressively chap-
eroned by seventeen stage carpenters,
thirteen electricians, a few stray camera-
men, and a troop of studio cats.
And Oscar. The colored gentleman
that "tends to" Mr. Arbuckle.

Nevertheless, those pongee pajamas were exceedingly—
intrigante, if you understand French.

That is to say, one really can't talk to a man in his pajamas
without feeling more or less — well, sympathetic and well-
acquainted, so I may have taken too lenient a view of his
view for a confessor.

"Woman?" asked Roscoe, when I delicately broached the
subject of my visit. "Woman! Lovely woman — in our
hours of ease uncertain, coy and hard to please! Somebody
certainly wrote that. Well, well, I appreciate the compliment
you pay me. I am not an expert on the ladies. I have
watched a lot of these he-vamps talk themselves into a love
affair — and then talk themselves out. But personally, I am
not an expert.

"The only thing a man never regrets saying about a woman
is nothing."

I couldn't tell him the real reason that I had suddenly
decided to be a mother confessor to him and gather all his
ideas about women. It was at once too flattering and too
unflattering.

Because— by jove, he may be right when he says the fat
man is just beginning to come into his own — because Roscoe
in the role of a matinee idol had dawned upon my startled
senses only two days before. Up to that time I regarded him
merely as a comedian. Then I overheard a couple of school
girls— of the cut-his-picture-out-and-sleep-with-it-under-the-
pillow age — discussing motion picture males. After admitting
that Wally Reid was undoubtedly the handsomest man in the
world and that they were in love with Tommie Meighan —
one girl said, "But / just adore Roscoe Arbuckle. Isn't he

headed
on the
5 to be

Photoplay Magazine

sweet? And mother says it's the wisest thing now to pick
out a good-natured man. Everything is so expensive."

I roared internally. Later I repeated this to a friend of
mine — a clever, red-headed young female with as much temper-
ament as a World Series southpaw.

I hope Mr. Arbuckle will understand and forgive me when
I say I added something facetious about anybody loving a fat
man. You've probably heard that yourself.

My red-headed friend gave me a most unfriendly stare.
"I'm sure I don't see anything funny in that," she said, in a
voice that would have opened a can. " I think Roscoe Arbuckle
is one of the loveliest men on the screen. Just think how —
how restful, and simple, it would be, to be hi love with a man
like that. He's the kindest man, too. always doing something
for somebody."

So I began to give Roscoe some consideration. I began
thinking of his screen love affairs — they're the only ones I'm
allow-ed to think of — the charming, obliging, devoted, good-
natured creature he had made of his funny, fat lovers. And I
trotted around to ask him what he actually thought about it
all.

"Where did you get the notion I knew anything about
women?" he asked, as Oscar appeared with a large tray of
varied viands.

"Well, everybody must have some ideas about everything,"
I said.

"Oh, not necessarily," said Fatty, examining the contents
of the tray. "Look at Congress."

"Haven't you any ideas about women.'" 1 asked, looking
him firmly in the eye.

He grinned. "Some," he admitted. "Oh, yes, several."

"Then go on and tell me."

"Maybe the women won't like 'em," he murmured, stirring
the gravy around his roast beef sandwich.

"Are you afraid of women?" I asked lightly.

"You bet I am. You just bet I am. So is everybody else
that wears pants on the outside in this land of the free and
home of the brave. Women are the free and we are the brave.
The 19th amendment is only the hors d'oeuvre to the amend-
ments they will pass now they have found out they can. I
expect pretty soon the only
reason they allow us around
will be to prevent race
suicide. Doggone, I sure
like 'em but I sure fear 'em.

"Now I want you to
understand that anything
I may say in the heat of
oratory is speculation pure
and simple. I don't know-
any more about women
than an Armenian knows
about pate de fois gras.
Women alone are suffi-
ciently mysterious to me to
make me feel like Watson
without the needle — and as
for wives, they are a sepa-
rate race of human-..

"I admit I'm wrong
before I start, so please
don't let anybody argue
with me.

"As I was saying, I am
convinced that the fat man
as a lover is going to be tin-
best seller on the market
for the next few years. He
is coming into his kingdom
at last. He may never
bring as high prices or dis-
play as fancy goods as these
he-vamps and cavemen and
Don Juans, but as a good,
reliable, all the year around
line of goods, he's going to
have it on them all.

"Temperamental women
haven't enough padding on

Fat Men Make the Best
Husbands Because —

filled with old-fashioned ideas about home,
honor and marriages made in heaven.

STATISTICS show there have been more love
murders, marriage murders and suicide love
pacts in the last few years than ever before. It is
very hard cither to murder or be murdered by a fat
man. "

THE only thing that a man never regrets saving
about a woman is nothing.

A FAT MAN has no nerves. Domestic scenes,
thrills, bills and various other manifestations
of the genus temperamentus feminus rebound from
him with alacrity."

A HANDSOME husband takes too much looking
after. A handsome husband is like having
twins."

'AT men are inclined to be faithful.
a form of laziness, you know."

It's often

/^\P course I believe in marriage. Life can't be

all sunshine '

"I wouldn t marry the most beautiful woman in the

world if she asked me. A beautiful wife is like a

diamond necklace — nice to have around but a lot

of bother to take care of.

their own nerves, so they're going to choose a fellow that they

think has enough for both of them.

"Women are getting more temperamental every day. The

audiences are bigger, that's all.

"A woman today has got to have a good natured-husband.

Statistics show that there have been more love murders,

marriage murders and sui-
cide love pacts in the last
few years than ever before
in the history of the world.
"It is very hard either
to murder or to be mur-
dered by a fat man.

"When you think of the
things a woman wants to
do nowadays and the things
she does not want you to do
—the percentage is surpris-
ingly low, seeing there
aren't fat men enough to
go around. Women want
to smoke cigarettes, bob
their hair, drink wood alco-
hol, have men friends,
spend their own and every-
body else's money, cut
their skirts off just above
the knees, run their own
and your business, drive
automobiles, go to con-
ventions, elect mayors and
presidents and be as inde-
pendent as the Kaiser
thought he was. The only
thing she can't get along
without is her lip-stick.
She's just got to have a
good-natured husband. You
can see that for yourself.

"And one that can be a
father to her children,
because she's going to be
pretty busy and she may
not have much time to
(Continued on page 102)

An Impression

of Alice Terry

By Ralph Barton

WHEN "The Four Horsemen" rode into its premier in a Broadway theater,
Alice Terry rode with it — into actual fame. Her performance of Mar-
guerite was a cameo-like achievement; a delicate, half-spiritual, half-sensuous
thing. It was the outstanding dramatic feature of the Ibanez adaptation,
and Miss Terry, after a long apprenticeship in unimportant roles, took her
place among our premier leading women.

THE

THREE

MUSKETEERS

His Majesty. Louis XIII.
of France. Adolphe
Menjou plays the part
with all the necessary
aplomb and eclat. (This
picture gives us every ex-
cuse for airing our
French.)

Doug s mustache is real. He
grew it to give the semblance
of reality to his characteriza-
tion of M. d' Artagnan. No
porch-climbing for Fairbanks
in this picture. He is putting
his best efforts into the elab-
orate production, which is to
have its premier in a Broad-
way theater.

To the left : Anne of Austria
(Mary MacLaren). consort of
Louis XIII., whose honor the
Three Musketeers and
d Artagnan unite to defend
against Richelieu and the
machinations of "Milady.

At the right: the heroine of
Fairbanks "The Three
Musketeers" is Constance,
a Artagnan s fair sweetheart
—played by Marguerite de la
Motte. For her, Doug fights
and wins. And there is., as
there should be, a Happy
Ending.

Douglas Fairbanks has made
a ten-reel version of Dumas'
famous romance. Doug plays
d'Ar tagnan. The Three
Musketeers are holding forth
in the frame to your left.
You 11 have no difficulty in
recognizing d Artagnan Fair-
banks, Leon Barry as the
melancholy Athos, George
Siegmann as the huge Pot-
tbos, and Eugene Paulette as
the clever Aramis.

Armand Emmanuel Sophie
Septemanie du Plessis —
better known as the Due
de Richelieu. Nigel de
Brulier is the Cardinal s
screen incarnation, and he
is stately enough to sat-
isfy all sticklers for his-
torical accuracy.

The author of the
famous "Boston
Blac\ie" stories is
now a contributor
to Photoplay's
Fiction Pages

THROUGH

LITTLE DOOR

An amazing story of the invisible

power that reached within the

walls of a prison death-cell.

By JACK BOYLE

Illustrated by Lee Conrey

THE governor signed the last of the letters on his desk,
laid down his pen, and drew out his watch.
"Half an hour to train-time. Good! Is there any-
thing else, Griggs, before I go?" he inquired oi his
secretary.

"Nothing, Governor, except — unless

The secretary produced a shabby, thumb-soiled envelop, fin-
gering it reluctantly.

"Well, well — out with it, man," urged the governor.

" It's the Jerry McWilliams case. His wife and mother —

"'The McWilliams case?' I remember now — the man to be
executed next Friday. I have denied the application for
clemency. What brings it up again?"

"Only this," replied the secretary, fingering the soiled letter.
"His wife and mother were waiting in the corridor before the
outer offices were opened this morning. The mother is an old
woman, very frail and sickly. The wife, sickly, too, was carry-
ing a child. It was utterly impossible to get rid of them short
of having them forcibly ejected. They had this letter with
them, and, finally, to induce them to go, I promised to place it
personally in your hands before your departure for the West
and" — hesitantly — "to see, Governor, that you read it."

The governor took the letter, glancing again at his watch.

"I haven't much time, Griggs; but I'll keep your promise."

The governor tore open the envelop and skimmed the lines.

"Well, Griggs, I have fulfilled your promise," he said, at
last. "The letter is a pitiful document, but I regret I must let
the law's judgment be carried out. The man's an ex-convict,
and he killed a policeman. The assertion that the dead police-
man induced the prisoner to join him in a robbery for the pur-
pose of trapping him is unbelievable. My decision stands.
So inform his wife and mother, and now" — with another glance
at his watch — "I must hurry. You ordered a car?"

"A taxi is waiting at the west entrance. I .wish you a
pleasant trip, Governor."

As the governor hurried down the deserted corridor of the
Capitol, two figures detached themselves from the shadow of a
marble pillar and confronted him. They were shabby women,
with shawl-covered heads and lean, curiously shrunken faces.
A child clutched its mother's dress, staring at him curiously.

With one step more the governor stood
neside the chair itself.

" Governor, sir" — the younger woman began. Hervoice failed
her utterly. The elder woman, white-haired and very feeble,
visibly gathered all her waning courage and laid two trembling
hands upon the governor's sleeve.

"My son — my Jerry, you, they — he — An aching lump
sealed her throat, too.

The governor turned his eyes from their faces.

"I read your letter and have left a message for you with my
secretary," he said. "And now I must beg you to excuse me."

Determinedly he brushed past the two and hurried on.

"The message for us, mother! It may be — good," whispered
the younger woman.

The old woman's head sank.

"Then he would have told us himself," she murmured, her
voice sinking to a grief-choked whisper. "Oh, my boy, my
Jerry! God have mercy!"

The governor found a taxicab waiting at the Capitol en-
trance.

"The station — and hurry," he said, as the chauffeur closed
the door after him with unusual care.

As the car sped through the night quiet, the governor was
conscious of a growing sense of well-being and comfort. Warm
comfort! Why was it so warm within the car, he wondered.
The air was as stifling as the breath of an oven. As he reached
out his hand to drop the window, he felt himself wafted gently
out upon a boundless sea that rose slowly about him, warm
and deliriously comfortable, and carried him gently on — and
on — and on.

The sea on which the governor floated receded, wave by

Photoplay Magazine

wave. Dimly he regretted it? departing warmth and comfort-
able buoyancy. A weight that lay heavily on his lungs slowly
lilted as he filled them greedily with air — air that was damp
«md cold with a chill that was subtly alarming. Under the
goading spur of a subconscious warning of imminent danger.
he lifted himself and realized he was King on a rough pallet.
Where was he.-"

About him and very close — the room in which he lay was
ridiculously small — were gray stone walls, faintly glistening
with moisture. The light was dim and came from a tiny wicket
window set close to the ceiling and protected, he discovered, to
his utter amazement, by closely set steel bars. Thoroughly
alarmed now. the governor sprang to his feet.
"Where am I? What has happened?" he cried.
Somebody laughed, and the governor saw in the far corner of
the cell a man. collarless. pale-faced, and with tousled hair
bending over a chess-board spread upon a battered table.

"Where are you, Jimmy old pal?" echoed the chess-player
with a cheeriness that seemed strangely forced. "Why, you're
just where you were before you went to sleep, Jimmy."

' 'Asleep!' " echoed the governor. "I was in a cab on the

way to my train."

The man in the corner
looked at him curiously.

"It is tough, Jimmy, to

come out of the free land

jMfrjjpj ■ .. o! dreams and find \<>ur-

self back here again —
back here in the same old
death-cell."

The man rose and
threw a kindly arm
about his cell-mate's
shoulders.

"Cheer up. Jim-
my," he said to the
governor, whose

With the photographs
he treasured propped
before him. Jerry Mc-
Williams wrote letters. At last he
gathered the sheets and read them
with solemn concentration. "That
ends the hardest task of all, ' he
said, as he finished.

eyes wandered wildly in amazment deeply shot with fear.
"Only three more short little days, only three more little sleeps,
and then we'll both drop off into that one long sleep. Three daj s,
Jimmy! And remember our compact, pal. You and I are going
through the little door to the chair like men. I wonder which
of us they'll take first? I hope it's you, Jimmy, because." — a
tremor shook his forced nonchalance — "it'll be a hard fifteen
minutes of waiting and listening for theone who remains, nerving
himself for his turn, after they've taken the other through the
little door."

THE governor sat on the edge of the cell pallet. ea?ing throb-
bing temples with the pressure of his palms and struggling
to evolve any possible hypothesis that would explain the inexpli-
cable enigma that he. Jared Huested, governor of the state, found
himself bereft of his identity and in a prison death-house,
awaiting execution.

It was utter madness, stark insanity, and yet

He tapped the stone walls with his knuckles. That unyield-
ing stone masonry assuredly was no myth of a diseased mind.
He glanced again, as he had done many times, toward his cell-
partner, a kindly comrade who called him by a name not
his own and assured him, with obvious mystification at the
question, that they had been cell-companions for sixty-six
days. The governor's brain reeled under the stress of con-
templating such a terrifyingly impossible situation.

Ashe groped blindly with the mystery, an elucidating possi-
bility flashed into his mind. Could he by some chance be the
double of the condemned man he was unwillingly imperson-
ating? By some inconceivably adroit criminal chicanery had
he been kidnaped, smuggled into the prison, and substituted
for the real condemned man? He turned to his cell-comrade.
"Have I been out of this cell for any reason whatsoever,
even for a minute, since I first entered it. as you tell me, more
than two months ago.''" he asked.

The chess-player roused himself from his game.
"You're asking strange questions to-night, Jimmy.' he
replied. "You know there's no power under the sun, short of
a governor's commutation, that can open these cell doors to
you or me on any pretext whatsoever — until — Friday!"
The governor sprang to his feet. His comrade's mention of
"the governor" had suggested a new thought. Hubbard, the
warden of the penitentiary, was his own appointee and a person-
al friend. He would send for him. be recognized, and, of course,
at once released.

The front of the cell from floor to ceiling was formed of crossed

bars of steel with a door of open grill-work hinged in its center.

The governor sprang at the door and rattled it furiously.

"Is there a guard out there?" he cried.

"What can I do for you. Jimmy?" replied

a voice from the vague space beyond the

netting.

"I want to see the warden —
at once."

"All right, Jimmy; I'll 'phone
to him for you. But I can't
promise he'll come." returned
the guard indulgently.

The man called a number
on a telephone, asked for the
warden, and delivered the
message.

"The warden says he'll be in
to see you for a minute before he
goes to dinner." said the guard,
returning to his post before the
cell door.

During the endless hour that
followed, the governor paced the
cell floor. At last, a door creaked
open and clanged shut. Jingling
keys sounded above the double
tread of footsteps.

"Which one of them wants to
see me?" said a voice.

"Jimmy Holman. sir." an-
swered the guard. "He's in
here."

The governor sprang at the
bars of his cell.

"Warden," he cried, "ooen

Photoplay Magazine

these doors! I'm Governor
Huested."

"You're who?" demanded the
warden.

"The governor !" cried the prisoner.
"For God's sake man, don't stand
there talking. Open these doors."

A door in the wire network opened ;
the warden stepped in and stood just
outside the cell bars, staring into the
governor's face. The man was a
stranger.

"You're not Warden Hubbard!"
screamed the governor.

"My name's not Hubbard; it's
Thompson, as you very well know,"
the warden answered, with evident
irritation. "Also, I am the warden of
this penitentiary."

"Thompson," echoed the gover-
nor, eyes bulging, knees sagging. " I
appointed Will Hubbard warden of
our penitentiary. I am Governor
Jared Huested."

"That's fine," answered the war-
den ironically. "If you're the gov-
ernor, you ought to write yourself a
pardon — only, if you do, old man,
don't make the mistake of signing it
'Huested.' The governor's name
happens to be Theodore Smith. We
never had a Governor Huested in this
state."

"What place is this?" faltered the
governor.

"The Lester Penitentiary, of
course," answered the warden short-
ly. Then, more kindly: "Cut out
the nonsense, Jimmy. It can't pos-
sibly work. Insanity's your idea, of
course, but there's no chance, Jimmy.
Good-night."

The wire wicket door banged be-
hind the warden. The governor
screamed out to him to come back.
There was no reply. A far-off door
clanged shut, then — silence.

Tottering to his pallet, Governor
Jared Huested threw himself upon it,
his mind a madly whirling mael-
strom. Either he or all the world was
suddenly insane. Cold beads of per-
spiration trickled down his cheeks.
From behind him, a comforting arm *—
gently encircled his shoulders.

"Get a grip on yourself, old pal,"
the voice of his cell-mate whispered

close to his ear. "We can't show the white feather on Fridav.
Cheer up! Maybe it's easy to die, Jimmy. Who knows?"

To die!

For the first time, the possibility that he might actually be
standing face to face with that final horror penetrated the
governor's consciousness, and he caught the hand of the com-
rade who strove to comfort him — the hand of the man who,
like himself, was to die in the electric chair on Friday.

"Who are you, friend?" the governor asked.

"Why, Jerry McWilliams, Jimmy. What's wrong with vou
to-night?"

Jerry McWilliams! The man whom his conscience had de-
creed must die — die as they said he, the governor, must die.

Jared Huested's belief in his own sanity tottered and, over-
powered in body and mind, he dropped, like one dead, upon his
pallet.

Ill
1V/IORNING had come — a death-cell morning; a morning
*"A lighted by the cold, steady glare of an incandescent in-
stead of the living brilliance of sunshine; a morning that
echoed to. the feet of the death-watch instead of the song of
birds; a morning weighted with the chill of the cell to which it

Thoroughly alarmed now, the governor sprang to his

had come, and as unlike the fresh, urgently rejuvenating
awakening of the free world to a new-born day as death is un-
like life.

The governor's breakfast was before him, bountiful, well
cooked and appetizing. At sight of it, he had felt hunger — and
then, as he raised the first morsel to his lips, he remembered.
It was his last breakfast but one. He shrank from the food as
if, in touching it, he was hastening the hour of which he dared
not think.

In his sleep, Governor Huested's mind had yielded to the un-
combatable reality of his situation. He no longer puzzled over
how and why he had come to be where he was. That mystery
had all but ceased to interest him. It was too completely over-
shadowed by the one all-dominating fact that throbbed dully
through body and brain at each heart-beat. Forty-eight —
only forty-eight — racing hours of life were left to him.

The governor rose and laid a trembling hand upon his cell-
mate's shoulder.

"Friend," he said, and, as Jerry McWilliams looked into his
face, smiling, each involuntarily sought the other's hand and
grasped it.

"You killed a policeman. Tell me why, Jerry," the governor
said . "I want to know how you come to be here, because I was —

Photoplay Magazine

feet. "Where am I ? What has happened ? " he cried.

or fancy I was, Jerry — governor of this state, and, as governor,
I heard and denied your appeal for clemency. Then, I thought
I was right. Now I know I must have been wrong. I wish to
know I was wrong, Jerry."

Jerry McWilliams' grave eyes studied the governor's face
with a puzzled, gently indulgent compassion.

"I feel no remorse for what I did," he began. "Often I wish
I could." Jerry McWilliams sprang up, pacing the tiny cell
back and forth, back and forth. "I can't be sorry he's dead.
I try, but I can't," he insisted, dropping to the bunk. " If you
were really the governor sitting here, with the power to save
me with a stroke of your pen, I'd have to admit that, for it's
the truth."

Jerry touched his breast, feeling for a packet that lay inside
his shirt. Slowly he drew it out and stared at two frayed photo-
graphs. One was the mother. The other was a girl smiling,
happy, and so young that one instantly wondered that the
baby in her arms was not a doll. The governor had seen her
when happiness was dead within her heart, had seen her face in
the gray, deathlike pallor of despair.

Jerry refolded the packet.

"My sorrow is for them," he said.

Then in jerky, briefly worded, ruthless pictures, Jerry

McWilliams bared the heart of a man
condemned to die by society for its
own good. His youth, wild, lawless,
and prodigally reckless of conse-
1 quenccs; the ever-growing, down-
I ward tug of tenement streets and
their environment; the slow slough-
ing-oft of a deterring conscience until
right became wrong and wrong be-
came right — these in quick-moving
pictures — bits from Life's world-old
film — flashed before the governor as
he visualized Jerry's confession.
"I was coasting straight for this
cell in those days," he said regret-
fully, "and then I met Maisie. I
loved her and, overnight, her good-
ness and my love changed me. On
the day we were married, I was a man
working honestly who thought his
past all behind him. Our two shabby
little rooms were our palace. We
were happy, contented. Then — '
The governor saw the condemned
man's eyes contract with pain. "And
then — it was on the night when I first
knew that my little Maisie was mak-
ing a baby's clothes — I heard heavy
steps on our stairway and a knock at
our door. As I opened it, a detective
stepped in.

'The chief's after wantin' to talk
with ye, Jerry,' he said.

"I never again saw that haven
Maisie and I had made of the two
rooms at the top of five flights of dark
stairway. As a promising crook-
world novice, the long arm of that
world had protected me. As a work-
er content with a weekly pay-en-
velop, that protection vanished, and
the law was free to resurrect my past
and impose its punishment. They
sentenced me to three years here."
Jerry McWilliams stopped, his
hands clenched.

"And then?" prompted the gov-
ernor.

"And then I learned what prison
=_/C ^ l^i <j_^» makes of a man. On the day Lester's

gates first closed on me, I could have
gone back to Maisie and lived hon-
estly for the rest of my life. In six
months here, I became something re-
pulsive even to myself; something
worse than a beast, for of manhood I
still had left a man's capacity for
hatred. On the day I was released and went back to Maisie to
see my boy for the first time, I was what I had never been be-
fore— a criminal by conviction, heart, body and soul."

Faint, muffled footsteps from beyond the little door brought
Jerry suddenly to his feet.

"Listen," he whispered, bending close to the governor:
"They're in the execution-room. They're testing the chair —
for us."

The electric lights suddenly dimmed to a dull, red glow.
"They've turned the juice through the chair. It always dims
the lights. On Friday morning, they'll dim twice, once for
each of us — and then, what? We'll soon know, Jimmy."
The governor shivered, and his heart skipped a beat.
"In three minutes, two baby hands undid the destructive
work of my three years in this prison," Jerry continued.
"From the first moment when I held my baby in my arms and
he looked into my face, I felt all my hatred dissolve and knew
that my baby's father couldn't ever be a crook. Early next
morning, I began to hunt work."

As Jerry talked, the cold gray walls of the cell dissolved and
the governor saw his comrade in a prison-suit, tramping the
streets of the city. Work was plentiful, but not for an ex-
convict. The truthful answer: "I'm from Lester Prison, but,

3°

Photoplay Magazine

"I ve read the letter you left for me.' lie began, "and — " Witli the wife's and mother's eyes fixed on his and blazing
with something new-kindled and fiercely hopeful, the governor checked the words on his lips.

sir, I'm going to live straight," terminated interview after inter-
view with a curt dismissal. But perseverance eventually must
succeed. A packing-house foreman asked no questions.

" If you can hustle boxes like that," he said, with a jerk of his
thumb toward the two-hundred pound cases that covered the
warehouse floor, "be here at seven in the morning."

Jerry was there. He went to work. Just before noon, as he
helped to load a dray, he felt a tap on the shoulder. A detective
was at his elbow.

"Where you from?" demanded the officer.

Jerry told him.

"Did you tell your boss that before you went to work?"

"He didn't ask me," answered Jerry, "and anyway I'm
playing a straight game from now on."

The policeman's lip twisted into a sneer of disbelief. Jerry
saw him enter the general offices of the firm. Within ten
minutes, the packing-house foreman called Jerry aside.

"I can't use you any longer," he announced.

"Why not? Don't I do my work right?"

"Orders from the office. Somebody's tipped you off up
there. Hard luck; but there's nothing more for you here.
Here's your half-day's time check."

The search for work began again. On the second day he
found employment washing cars in a garage. Almost before lie
had his coat off he saw the same detective saunter in, stare at
him for a moment, and then seek out his employer. Immedi-
ately he was discharged.

As Jerry turned into the streets, fighting back the bitterness
of his growing conviction that the world would accept no truce
with him, a man jostled him, apologized and then seized his
hands in welcoming recognition.

"Lord, Jerry, I'm glad to see you back on the 'main stem'!"
he cried. "The last time I saw you, we were both wearing
zebra hand-me-downs and folding our (Continued on page 86)

Before

and

After

Taking

Some sober views

on marriage by

Mr. Natalie Talmadge.

THIS is one or those before-
and-after-takmg testimonials.

Buster Keaton ana Natalie
Talmadge went ana got married.

Before lie was married Buster
Had a lot of ideas about matri-
mony.

After he was married he had
a lot more.

Judging by expressions, the
photograph illustrates what Fatty
Arbuckle says elsewhere in this
issue: "I believe in marriage —
life cannot be all sunshine.

It is good evidence of how
foolish even a comedian is to say
anything positive about any-
thing.

FROM AN INTERVIEW WITH BUSTER KEATON IN THE
LOS ANGELES EXAMINER. JUNE 14th, 1920.

FROM AN INTERVIEW WITH BUSTER KEATON IN THE
LOS ANGELES EVENING HERALD. JUNE 15th. 1921.

ROMANCE, which leads to marriage, begins at home but
it finishes in Reno.
I am single and proud of it. I hope to retain my
freedom for years to come. Most of the couples that ask
for a marriage license ought to apply for a fight permit instead.
I cannot picture myself as a member of the "Yes, my dear"
club.

Many a grand love affair is spoiled by marriage. Marriages
may be made in heaven. It's easy to say that because nobody
can call you a liar with impunity. Hut the divorce courts
do a lot of business.

One famous old bird hit it right when he said, "80 percent
of the men get married, the other 20 percent remain sane."
It's a great feeling no doubt to be a member of the ball and
chain gang but I prefer to remain single and let the barber
massage my head without the aid of a rolling pin.

If I am one of the screen's eligible bachelors, I'm going to
be one for a long time. The sound of wedding bells always
makes me sad. I bow my head and think of another good
man gone wrong. Married men don't really live longer —
it only seems longer.

I noticed one thing with the A. E, F. in France. The
happiest men in my company were the married men. who
told the whole world they were on vacations. A friend of
mine who runs a nice undertaking parlor in Hollywood told
me the other day married men always make the best pall-
bearers. I believe him.

And I am going to stay single.

MARRIAGE is ethereal. I cannot understand a bachelor
nor his way of thinking. Just imagine his loneliness
returning every night with no one to greet him !
When I was single and returned home I could never find
anything to do. Just think of all the things your wife can
find for you to do.

I have learned in my short married life that there are two
sides to every argument — your wife's and her mother's. Think
of all the service you get, the petting and waiting on — think
of it. And try to get it.

Why, after you're married you never have to worry about
making up your mind. Such things are done for you.

Nothing can compare with marriage. Nothing has ever
tried to.

All men who do not get married are benighted ignoramuses
They are missing the most wonderful thing in life. The
bachelor's conception of married life is all wrong, lie cannot
conceive what it is to have a sweet little wife.

But a bachelor is like the grass that springs up for a day.
He won't last long. Some girl will convince him of the error
of his ways. That is the tiling that gives me hope —they'll
not last long.

Instead of saying "Go west, young man," I say "Get
married, young man."

That coffee! Those hot cakes! Biscuits! You can take
those exclamation points any way you like.

I am certainly glad I'm married. I wouldn't be single for
anything in the world.

There is something about Her that very few American act-
resses possess — the spirit of the outdoors. Even under
the electric lights, or in the artificial studio atmosphere,
she has a freshness that is the freshness of meadows in
the spring. Her blonde hair is bright and rather like new
corn, her face is browned by the sun and her eyes have
the quiet cool look of outdoor people.

GOODBYE, BATHING GIRL!

Prohibition — Blue Sundays — Phyllis Haver
without her bathing suit ! Can such things be ?

By ADELA ROGERS ST. JOHNS

IMAGINE looking down a long vista of years without even
a hope of seeing Phyllis Haver in a bathing suit created
from a yard of insertion, a piece of tulle and an elastic!
Imagine contemplating life devoid of the occasional
filipe of Phyllis in black silk
swimming tights!

Prohibition — Blue Sundays —
Phyllis Haver without her bathing
suit — if you know what I mean.

Somehow — while water babies
have been growing up all about
us — I have always thought of
Phyllis Haver as the perpetual
bathing girl — the queen and sym-
bol of the delicious water sprites
of the screen.

So I felt exactly as though some-
body told me Babe Ruth was
going to quit baseball and go in for
golf, when I heard that Phyllis
was going in for comedy drama.

It isn't so much that Phyllis
herself has grown up — but bathing
girls, owing to censors, the in-
creased use of water for drinking
purposes, and the high cost of
bathing material, have gone out of
fashion. It's a closed season on
bathing beauties.

Just what they're going to call
them now we haven't discovered.

So while Mary Thurman and
Marie Prevost and Betty Compson
forsook the bathing suit, the bath-
ing suit has sort of forsook Phyllis.

Everybody — even Mack Sennet i
who invented 'em — looks sort of
I - meet - so -many -what- is- your -
name, when you mention B. B.

So Phyllis of the brilliant smile,
Phyllis the 20th Century Venus-
with-her-arms-back-on, Phyllis of
the free and graceful carriage, is
going into light comedy-drama.

She was one of the few bathing girls not afraid
to get her bathing suit wet, at least those suits
of her own private stock. Top of page — ftve
poses of Phyllis Haver during her Sennetteer-
mg days.

Not but what she will be charming. Not, understand, that
I don't think her eminently fitted and capable of comedy-
drama-ing all over the lot.

But Phyllis — whom her pals affectionately term Phil — was
the one bathing girl who wasn't
afraid to get her bathing suit wet —
not the ones she wore in the Mack
Sennett Comedies, but her own
private stock.

I think something of her superb
nonchalance, her strong young
Greek goddess freedom of motion,
her seeming fitness and unconcern
in a bathing suit, came from the
fact that Phyllis Haver adores the
water, is an expert swimmer and in
perfect physical condition as a
result every moment of her care-
free existence.

Anything more delightful than
to watch Phyllis at the beach, in
the water, I don't know. I have
seen her ride a board tied to the
end of a motor launch going sixty
miles an hour out in the ocean —
I have seen her tumbled off again
and again, only to come up as
graceful and undisturbed as a
mermaid. I have watched her
diving the big, rough breakers of
the Pacific, her laughing face break-
ing through like a sunbeam through
the clouds.

When she donned a bathing suit
she was neither sex nor self-con-
scious. Having worn one for prac-
tical purposes every possible occa-
sion since she was two years old,
she didn't feel dressed up to exhibit
herself — and she didn't look nor
act it.

If anybody every justified the use
of a two-by-four bathing suit as a
{Continued on page 107)

Mrs. Anthon led Jim off to the bathroom and set about fixing his wounds
Jim was a born rebel but his mother loved him all the more for it.

THE intermittent droning of a lazy lawn mower lazily
pushed by 01' Uncle Ned sounded up and down the
street from the old-fashioned house of Dr. Anthon. It
was early morning of another of those endless village
days, busy with its thousand trifles under a deceptive over-
spreading atmosphere of repose.

From the earliest days of Carthage there had been a Doctor
Anthon in the old house on Main Street, and it was the hope
of Dr. Anthon that there always should be.

Busy betimes in his office, Horace Anthon, M. D., reassured
.Mrs. Guthrie for the hundredth time in the year that she
would be better, then patiently bowed the chattering pro-
fessional invalid out and stood at his doorway looking at his
watch.

"Mother. Oh, Mother!"

There was a pause and Dr. Anthon raised himself up and
down on his toes, glancing down at his watch with a dignified
impatience.

"Yes — Father," Mrs. Anthon answered from upstairs.

"It's time the children were starting to school!"

Dr. Anthon delivered his statement with pleasantness, but
firmness. This was his routine performance every morning.
At eight-thirty he was moved to officially urge the household
into action, quite regardless of the fact that this hour found
Mrs. Anthon feverishly busy

Mrs. Anthon came to the head of the stairs and threw a kiss
to her pompously stern husband.

"Mind your own business, Horace." It was a reprimand
gently given, with sweetness and just a spice of spirit.

The
OLD

NEST

From the story of the same name
by Rupert Hughes

A story of mother,
love, the love that
lasts and forgives,
ever and ever.

By
GENE SHERIDAN

Anthon laughed and repocketing his watch
turned into the room that was his office.

Kate, a spunky little girl of nine, stood im-
patiently looking at her mother, standing with
one hand over her shoulder holding a half-
buttoned dress.

"Mamma — you haven't fixed me yet." The
child followed after her mother as Mrs. Anthon
started down the hall to a closed door.
Mrs. Anthon gave a glance across the hall into the room
where Tom and Arthur were abustle with their preparations,
and smiling opened the door into Jim's room. The tousle-
headed lad, just ten, was deep in sleep. Gently Mrs. Anthon
touched him on the shoulder and he stirred. She shook him
lightly and he turned over, flinging his arms about in his sleep.
The mother, reluctant, roused him into wakefulness and play-
fully spanked him. Jim sat up in bed, yawning cavernously,
then smiled at his mother.

"Breakfast's over, Jim — it's school time."
"All right, mamma." Jim started to get up and his mother
went out of the room. As she went out Jim dropped back on
the bed and in a moment was fast asleep again.

A few moments later Mrs. Anthon returned, and with smiling
patience looked at Jim. She stepped to a washstand and dip-
ping a cloth in cool water washed Jim's face, this time bringing
him up wide awake. With another admonition to hurry,
Mrs. Anthon went out. Jim waited a second, listening, then
drew out his copy of Nick Carter's "Adventure of the Broken
Bars." He propped himself up in bed and plunged into the
dime novel.

Mrs. Anthon was just kneeling beside Kate to finish button-
ing the child's dress when she was up again at a cry from the
cradle which sat in her room, between Kate's trundle bed and
the sewing machine.

With Kate at her heels Mrs. Anthon bent over the cradle
and cooed reassuringly to baby Emily. Rocking the cradle
with one hand, Mrs. Anthon bent over Kate and -finished
fastening her dress.

Photoplay Magazine

r"FHIS is a story for those who love
-*- and cherish their mothers, but
more particularly it is for the many
who love and neglect their mothers.
It is a story that tells anew the sig-
nificance of those little things, the
letters home, the birthday remem-
brance, the visit back, now and then,
things that mean so little for children
to do, that mean so much to mothers
to have done. In. return for the wealth
of service, tenderness and understanding
that the mother lavishes, remembrance
is a little thing. Greatest of our sins
of omission is to forget the woman who
gave us life. A thought and a word
at the right time can bring smiles to
that dear old wrinkled face and tears
of joy into the eyes that watched over
you when you were a baby.

UNOBSERVED by his busy mother, little
Frank, the six year old, came into the room,
laden with schoolbooks and gripping at his un-
buttoned trousers. He came up close to Kate,
with her suspiciously watching him, then turned
about and at an unexpected moment tweaked her
braided hair.

Kate shrieked and whirled about backing up
against her mother.

"Mamma, Frank pulled my hair."

"I did not, mamma!" Frank looked up' at his
mother, a picture of injured innocence.

"You did, you did, you did!" Kate stamped
her foot and screamed.

"I was just standing here waiting for you to
fix this, mamma." Frank looked into his mother's
eyes with the gentleness of a cherub. He
twisted out a hand at his side, the spot where a
button had parted company with his trousers in
a most strategic position.

"Now Frank!" Mother knew he was guilty,
but she was always doing her utmost to condone
and pacify. Kate sniffled.

Mrs. Anthon went for a needle and thread.

"Have you got the button?"

Frank proudly held out the button, assuming a great air
of self-satisfaction and pride at this bit of foresight. While
the mother was sewing on the button Arthur came limping
into the room, with one shoe on and the other in his hand, a
finger stuck through a hole in the toe of the sole. The oldest
of the boys, Arthur, was a lovable lad to whom nothing in all
the world was serious. A smile spread over his face as he held
up the shoe.

"Why didn't you tell me before it got so big?" Mrs.
Anthon looked up from her sewing to regard the shoe ruefully.

"You'll have to wear your Sunday best today — and please
don't kick every stone that you see, Arthur."

Arthur grinned as he went out. He passed Tom in the hall.
Tom's face shone with the vigour of much scrubbing and he
was neatly dressed, save his tie which showed the results of a
violent struggle.

"I simply can't tie it right, mother!" Tom appealed to
his mother with bitterness and disappointment and the assur-
ance that an appeal to mother would make everything satis-
factory.

Again came a wail from Emily in her cradle and Mrs. Anthon
drew Tom over where she could resume the rocking with her
foot while tying his scarf.

Taking advantage of his mother's preoccupation, Frank was
busy with a bit of chalk filched from school, drawing figures
on the wallpaper in the hall. Kate came upon him thus
engaged.

"Weary
dren. . .

Mrs. Anthon! She had fought, bled, and lied for her chil-
. . The butcher was old — he could wait. Kate was young.

"Papa'll skin you for that."

Frank jumped, then reaching out swiftly yanked Kate's
hair again. A kid scrap ensued. At the sound of a step on
the stairs the children fled to their mother's room.

Dr. Anthon appeared at the head of the stairs. Kate
loudly called his attention to Frank's mural efforts and pointed
to the young miscreant in her mother's room. Anthon
grimly started into the room.

Frank was clutching close to his mother. She pushed him
behind her. Anthon motioned to his wife to hand Frank over
for the spanking that was his. For answer she drew the boy
closer to her.

"The child has talent, clear." She spoke gently. "Don't
discourage him." Mrs. Anthon looked up at her husband
with a pleading smile. She was working the old witchery on
him. She drew Frank from behind her.

"Mind mother now — go wash your ears good."

Anthon watched her, his face a mixture of professional
solemnity and amusement. His eyes caught the cradle.

"We are not rocking children any more." He stretched
out his hand to stop the swaying cradle.

"We may not be, but / am — go mind your own business,
Horace!" Mrs. Anthon quietly removed the father's hand
and went on rocking Emily.

Anthon withdrew a step discreetly and looked at his watch.

"I haven't seen Jim — isn't he up yet?"

This startled Mrs. Anthon. Jim was her chief care.

Anthon started briskly toward Jim's room. Mrs. Anthon
looked at him with a tinge of alarm in her face.

Photoplay Magazine

"It s the miser s hoard, Jim. Take it and sell it — do anything with it that you can — I do so want to help you."

"Wait," she cried out. "You mind the baby and I will
go." Swiftly but tenderly she picked up the infant Emily
and thrust her into her father's hands, hurrying out down the
hall to Jim's room.

Anthon, checkmated, grinned to himself and turned his
attention upon his youngest, chucking her up and down in
the most unprofessional manner possible.

Absorbed in his thrilling dime novel, Jim stiffened, to hear his
mother approaching. He pushed the book hastily under his
pillow and slipping under the covers, pretended to be fast
asleep. With artful simulation he yielded to the awakening call
and grew really animated when told that his father was angry.
But Jim read Nick Carter while he brushed his hair.

The other children were off to school and Jim was hurrying
to the dining room for a snatch of breakfast when he en-
countered the misfortune of dropping his novel as his father
stood in the hall. Anthon snatched up the paper-covered
book and with one glance at it shot a question at Jim. Jim
flushed and struggled to answer.

Flaming with anger Dr. Anthon seized his cane from the rack
beside him. Mrs. Anthon rushed into the hall. She raised
a restraining hand, then led Jim out to the door and sent him
off on his way to school. She answered her husband's per-
plexed look with a wifely smile.

"Be patient with Jim, Horace," she said softly. "He needs
more care than the others."

Anthon shook his head dubiously.

"Tom wants to be a lawyer, Arthur thinks of business,
and I am counting on Jim to take my place, to be the next
Dr. Anthon." Anthon spoke his heart in this.

"Jim will come out all right — you'll see." Mrs. Anthon
was always hopeful and reassured where the children were
concerned.

Dr. Anthon went off in his dilapidated buggy to make his
round of calls.

And it was fortunate perhaps for Jim that his father had
gone. The last off to school, Jim was the first home.

Old Ned was raking the lawn again when he saw Jim come
scuffling along the walk, hesitating longer as each step brought

him nearer the house. Jim was a disheveled wreck, battered
and bleeding, clothes torn and hair in disorder.

"For land's sake whut's happen'd to yu, Mistah Jim?"
Old Ned stood rolling his eyes and scratching his grizzled head.

"Aw, shut up," Jim flung at him and crept into the house.
Jim ran up stairs to his alarmed mother.

"A couple of guys got fresh an' I licked 'em," Jim explained
with pride and tears.

All solicitude for Jim's hurts, Mrs. Anthon drew him to her
and mothered him.

"An' the teacher licked me!"

An indignant cry came from the mother.

"An' I kicked him in the shins an' he expelled me from the
school forever — an' I am glad of it."

Mrs. Anthon was shocked and saddened. She led Jim off
to the bathroom and set about fixing his wounds. Jim was
a born rebel, but his mother knew that he did not choose his
own soul and she loved him all the more for the storms ahead
that he must encounter.

The prattle of childish voices in the street told the mother
that school was out. Glancing from the window she saw little
Kate at the gate, simpering in childish flirtation with a little
boy of the neighborhood. There was a tug at the mother's
heart-strings. Love, the robber, would some day take Kate
from her.

Frank, little mischief, came taunting by, calling deridingly
at Kate — " Lovers — lovers — lovers."

Kate went storming at him and the little boy on the gate
slipped away home, abashed and blushing.

Frank ran into the house. He was proudly fingering a
newly-acquired pocket knife. It had three blades, one of
which was still in working order. Frank cast about for some-
thing to cut. Nothing seemed quite so attractive as the pol-
ished top of the dining room table. He was busily engaged
in cutting his name there when Kate discovered him. She
ran from the room. Dr. Anthon was coming up the step.

"Frank cut the table, Frank cut the table," she screamed
at her father.

Anthon looked at the table, marred and scratched, then

Photoplay Magazine

grabbed at Frank. Frank had learned early in life that a
yelp in time saved many a spank.

Ambon was applying his capable hands in the manner
calculated to do Frank the most good in the least time when
Mrs. Anthon, leaving Jim to his wounds in the bathroom,
came running to the rescue.

Anthon looked up as she entered.

"Why are you hurting my child.-"'

The mother-fury was tempered only by her love for Anthon
himself. Anthon pointed to the marred table top.

"I .do not care," the mother exclaimed. "You sha'n't
touch the boy." She snatched Frank to her.

Thus went the round of days in the Anthon family. The
father struggling for discipline, the mother fighting for kind-
ness. And yet there was a gentle harmony between them,
and Anthon loved his wife the more for her protecting defense
of her children, right or wrong.

The day that Tom, the sober, studious one, came home with
his scholarship prize and certificate of merit, was a proud one
for the Anthon parents. And yet that very night the boy-
fell ill. The father hurried the lad to bed and made most
careful diagnosis.

"Appendicitis," he said grimly.

The mother gasped.

"It means an operation — that's the only sure way," Anthon
said, unhappily.

"No, no," the mother cried out. "My mother saved
Brother Jack's life with hot compresses, and I can do it."

Anthon smiled sadly and shook his head.

"But I can, I can," the mother insisted.

And through days and nights Mrs. Anthon sat beside Tom's
bed applying the steaming compresses to his side while
the boy lay writhing in pain. Her hands were raw and
blistered with the heat of the water, hour after hour, endless
hot compresses. But in the end mother love won and the
crisis was passed.

Arthur was sent away to
military school, with much
misgivings and many cau-
tions from his mother.
With the five others safe in
bed, tucked in by her tired
loving hands, her heart
went out to the boy away.

And then came the eve-
ning when he was due home
again on his Easter vaca-
tion. Sleepy and worn, Mrs.
Anthon sat up in the night
waiting for him. She
drowsed in her chair and
the light burned low. In the
distance the train whistled
for Carthage and Mrs.
Anthon awoke with a
start. Her heart beat fast
with anticipation. She

went to her window where
she so often watched the
night trains come over the
drawbridge into the town.
In the distance she could
faintly hear the roaring of
the train and the whistle
sounded closer. She

strained her eyes to see as
the train should approach.

The engine whistle sent
four short blasts screaming
into the darkness.

The mother's heart
leaped with a stab of pain.

The draw was open.

There was .the cry of tor-
tured steel as the airbrakes
were set against the on-rush
of the train. The engine
shot forward unimpeded.
The mother, frozen with
helpless terror, stood with
clenched hands. The train Tom's voice was like a boy's.

shot into the Open draw. general. I Lurried* nome

Mrs. Anthon wore mourning for Arthur in her heart for all
of her life, but the time came when she* gave up wearing black-
crepe because her grown-up daughter Kate begged
her to.

And with the growing up of Kate came new problems and
trials for mother. It was somewhere near Kate's twenty-first
birthday when an invitation came from a girl chum to attend a
party that promised to thrill quiet old Carthage. Harry
Andrews, a New York youth of money, and a distant cousin
of the hostess, was to be the guest of honor.

Mrs. Anthon looked beamingly into the eyes of her daughter
when Kate handed over the invitation. There was a frown
on Kate's brow.

"Why — aren't you happy? Don't you want to go/"
"I've got nothing to wear— fit for Xew York swells to see."
Kate was pouting and pleading ail at once.

At this unhappy moment Dr. Anthon emerged from his
office and came upon them with a sheaf of bills and checks
in his hand and a worried look overspreading his face.
"Ask your father," said Mrs. Anthon.

Dr. Anthon looked at the invitation casually. He had
other things on his mind.

"All right, you can go," he said shortly.
"But I can not go! I have no clothes." Kate spoke with
a tragic gesture.

"Look at these — there's no money left for party dresses."
Anthon shook his head with a sad finality, and stepped oxer
to his wife. Kate stamped out slamming the door.
Anthon swung about and glared at the slammed door.
"Don't be angry with her. She is so young." Mrs. Anthon
put a hand on her husband's arm. Always she was talking
for her children. She took up the plea for a new dress for
Kate.

Anthon slapped the bundle of bills, then pushed his hand
through his hair in despair. He had gone past the limit.
He turned over the bills, one by one with checks attached.

The last, the butcher's bill,
was without a check.
Anthon handed the bills
and checks to his wife. He
reached into his pocket and
took out a small roll of bills.
"Mrs. Guthrie has just
paid me sixty dollars for a
year's treatment. That
takes care of the butcher for
a month." He handed over
the money.

And while the family
was picking along, with
Anthon bending under his
burdens, Jim, his hope for
the next Dr. Anthon, was
becoming the town easy-
mark at pool hall gambling.
With money filched and
borrowed from his mother
the wayward one tried to
be a sport.

Kate was sobbing in her
room, her heart heavy with
disappointment. She de-
termined to make another
appeal to her mother. She
found her sitting in her
room, the bills and the
checks and the butcher's
money on the worn old sew-
ing machine before her.
The grief-stricken girl threw
herself at her mother's
knees.

Weary Airs. Anthon! She
had fought, bled and lied
for her children. She sat
mothering the crying girl
and looking at the money
on the sewing machine.
She was thinking.

The butcher was old — he
could wait. Kate was young
— and {Cont'd on page 111)

"I ve been appointed attorney-
to be the first to tell you."

Come On
Back, Vivian

A plea addressed to the

missing Miss Martin,

who is also missed.

"You re a good actress, Vivian — you
used to make us cry, on the screen.

Photography by
White Studios.

DEAR Vivian:
We miss you. Why don't you come back?
Just as we're getting really attached to you, off
you go in a new play, leaving the screen, as it were,
flat. It doesn't seem right — especially since we have seen
your new play, Vivian. Now, "Just Married" is a nice
little comedy, and all, with its ship's staterooms, and its
heroine — you, Vivian — and its hero — Lynne Overman —
on the ship, and not married or anything, to each other or
anybody else. And we knew there would be complica-
tions, and all that; and we also knew that you and Lynne
would decide to carry out the title of the play before the
final curtain, so as not to send the audience home disap-
pointed. But it seems to us it's such a slight little play for
anybody with such big dramatic ambitions. And you
know you're a good actress, Vivian — you used to make us
cry, on the screen. And when we see these first-run pho-
tographs of you we get down on our figurative knees and
beg you to come back.

Yours truly,

Photoplay.

Cheer Up,
Pauline!

A word of sympathy to little

Miss Starke, the champion

weeper of the celluloid,

Photography h<
White Studios.

"You ve got as nice a smile as anybody we
know and we d like to see you use it."

POOR Pauline:
Is it never going to end: this heartless persecution of
you? You never have a chance, that's all. No one, not
even the scenario writer, has ever done right by you. Just
when you're attempting a forlorn little grin, along comes the di-
rector and tells you to stop it. You're hired to weep, and weep,
apparently, you must. Listen, Pauline: why don't you strike?
A ou've got as nice a smile as anybody we know, and we'd like to
see you use it once in a while. Of course, we admit you weep very
veil; still, they might permit you a few happy moments in the
fifth reel. It isn't as if you haven't already proved yourself Niobe's
foremost modern rival. You have flooded every California studio
with your tears — and a few in Manhattan. They say your weeping
in "Salvation Nell" is as artistic as any you have ever done. We
do not doubt it. But — cheer up, kid! Why don't you wear that
beaded dress — there, in the slimmer photograph — in one of your
pictures? It beats the Queen of Sheba's by several hundred beads.

Yours sincerely,

Photoplay.

Screening the Classics.

(As some of our producers would do it.)

ROMEO AND JULIET.

'Drawn by cNorman cAnthony

The ROMANCE of the
THIRD DIMENSION

By
WILLARD HUNTINGTON WRIGHT

How the photo-
play found the
artistic goal of
all the centuries

"The Cabinet

of Dr. Caligari,' '
was really an
American tri-
umph !

IT is a matter of
record that no pic-
ture, not even "The
Birth of a Nation,"

ever created quite as
much comment, argu-
ment and speculation
in one month's time as
did '"The Cabinet of
Dr. Caligari." It was
lavishly praised in
most quarters, "pa-
triotically" banned in
some, and hugely
talked about every-
where.

And why?

Because, answer the
thoughtless, "it had such
crazy scenery."

But why did it have
"such crazy scenery?" To
be eccentric — unusual — bi-
zarre? That sort of quest,
merely, would have landed
it in the cutting room's
waste-barrel.

The wiser heads tell you,
with a concluding and all-
summarizing nod, that here
was the first film exploit of
the futurists, the impres-
sionists, or the post-impres-
sionists. And they let it go
at that, considering that
that is the beginning and
likewise the end of the
answer; and that, probably,
the modernists will get
along pretty well in the
cinema theater if this, their
premier experiment, may be
taken as a criterion.

But as matter of fact,
"Caligari" stirred the film
world to its depths neither
because it was odd nor be-
cause it was German; nei-
ther because it was adroit

THE ESCAPE

The laws of linear and of planar intersection are successfully applied here to
give vastness and depth as well as tottering peril. The body leans with the
chimney, the leg and elbow of the man and the carried figure becoming
a compositional mass in rigid accord with the focal lines and the contrasting
tonal planes. The fluctuabuity of related lines in a two-eyed stereo-
scopic vision are here stated as a monocular impression.

DR. CALIGARI

In this picture all the lines and linear directions converge toward
Dr. Caligari; and in addition to this exaggerated perspective a
number of optical tricks have been introduced to retard the flow
of vision, thus extending the illusion of depth. The oppositional
vertical lines halt the vision and even turn it back at certain points.
The position of the cane, as well as that of the elbow, becomes an
integral part of the linear design.

"Pditor's Note: Mr.
-'-' W right is recognized
both in Europe and
America as one of the
foremost authorities on
painting and aesthet-
ics. He has been in-
timately associated
with the modern art
evolution in Europe,
and is almost equally
well known as essayist,
novelist, critic and
editor.

melodrama nor because
it was modernistic, but
because it was the first
sight of land in a mo-
tion picture new world
— the eastern shore of
the continent which
has been the quest of
every Coin minis of the
brush — farthest east of
that Arcadia of vision,
the Land of the Third
Dimension.

In main- of the sets
of "The Cabinet of Dr.
Caligari" one received
the distinct impression
that the action moved in
depth; that the picture, un-
like other motion pictures,
was not merely a fiat per-
formance on a two-dimen-
sional screen.

Now the importance of
this achievement may be
realized in the answer to
the question: what, during
its centuries of evolution,
has been the chief problem
of the art of painting? The
achievement of the third
dimension. From the hec-
tic days of the Cinquccento,
when old Leonardo, paus-
ing from his bellicose labors
of gun-making for the
bloody Cesare Borgia,
wrote his famous "Trattato
della Pittura." down to the
most recent manifesto of the
latest Xeo-l'ltimo-Futurist
of Greenwich Village, you
will find that painters large
and small, conservative and
revolutionary, famous and
obscure, have ever been
sedulously hounding the
trail of that same Third
Dimension. Mere perspec-

tive has never been enough. Some-
thing more realistic was demanded.

During the horse-hair-settee
period of American culture, when
all parlors possessed a marble-top
center-table, a what-not, a brace
of crayon portraits, a cluster of wax
flowers under glass, and a carpet-
covered rocking-chair mounted up-
on wooden tracks, there was always
to be found a stereoscope for the
amusement of callers who had ex-
hausted the fascinations of the
family album. This instrument of
diversion consisted of a species of
huge goggles (similar to those now
worn by Ford drivers) with a
handle underneath, and a project-
ing bracket on which was placed
a double photograph. By adjust-
ing this photograph and peering
through the goggles, one could see .
the Capitol at Washington, Niagara
Falls, the Yosemite Valley, or the
stalactites of Mammoth Cave, all
set off in bold relief and apparently
possessing three dimensions.

Now, it is exactly this effect
which painters have always en-
deavored to obtain. With but a
flat surface to work on, they have
realized that depth, or rather the
illusion of depth, was needed to
give their pictures solidity and
form and verisimilitude. They
also realized that this third dimen-
sion would have to be achieved by
optical and other scientific prin-
ciples applied to the technique of
painting; for, in reality, paintings
are and can be but two-
dimensional.

Now, when we look at an object
in nature we do so with two eyes,
and we necessarily get two distinct

impressions of that object, as anyone can prove by closing
first one eye and then the other. These two impressions
differ slightly from each other because our two eyes look at
the object from slightly different angles; and it is the focussing,
or super-imposing, of these two dimensions, which creates the
sense of depth — three dimensions — in ordinary vision. The
double photograph used with a stereoscope consists merely
of these two impressions (each "snapped" at a little different
angle) which, when looked at through a certain kind of split

Photoplay Magazine

THE FLIGHT

Chaotic movement and fatigue are suggested
by a multiplicity of intersecting curves (in
dark tones) contrasted with the straight lines
of the bridge railings (in light tones). The
body of the man — his arms and legs — as well
as the body of the supported figure, are
curved in the same manner as the lamp-
posts and the cactus-like plants, giving unity
to the movement of the picture s composi-
tion. Distorted and exaggerated perspective
has also been added to the receding lines and
the counter-balanced tones, for the purpose
of intensifying the illusion of depth.

lens, become one picture, and
appear to have depth. The stereo-
scope, in other words, is merely a
mechanical reproduction of our
normal binocular vision.

To a man with but one eye the
world is flat. And practically all
painting up to modern times has
been the vision of the one-eyed
man. The modernists, who a few
years ago were ridiculed as "com-
munards," lunatics, sensationalists
or mere fakers, recently discovered
how to produce the effect of a
third dimension; and by doing so
they solved the profoundest prob-
lem of painting, and one which has
bafiled the greatest artists and
investigators for centuries.

Consequently, in order to solve
this problem, the modern painters
first studied and experimented
with the laws of optics, the muta-
bility of related masses, the
fluctuability of lines, the function-
ing elements of tones and colors,
the laws of composition and organ-
ization, the principles of psychol-
ogy and physiology, the emotional
reactions to external stimuli, and
numerous other aspects of the
subject. Then they sought to ap-
ply these researches to painting,
and to express them with a paint-
er's technique — in short, to state
the scientific principles which they
had mastered in terms of pictorial
art. The first experiments were
something beyond all human
understanding, but at last a few
of the greater artists succeeded in
. producing pictures which gave the
impression and the illusion of
depth.

The motion picture producer has,
from the first, felt the need of this third dimension on the
screen, and has made a few unsuccessful attempts to produce
it. But he has completely failed for the simple reason that
he has never gone to the men who really knew something
about the subject from the pictorial and scientific standpoint.
Germany made "Caligari," but, like the submarine and the
first principles of the modern dye industry, "Caligari" was in
Germain-, but not of it. The Germans merely took the dis-
coveries which other peoples neglected, and faced them with
the motion camera.

Do you know that today America leads the
world in modern painting? With the exception
of the few great experimental artists of the past
generation — Renoir, Cezanne, Matisse and
Picasso — this country possesses, among its
younger men, the truly profound and creative
painters of the new art movements, the painters
who have gone furthest in mastering the prin-
ciples of three-dimensional form.

Certain arrangements of lines and masses and
tones produce certain moods; and a mere "set,"
in itself, can be made to evoke the exact emotional
effect of an action or situation. There are pic-
torial laws governing these linear and tonal
arrangements, just as there are laws governing
the projection ofatmos- {Continued on page 105)

THE VILLAGE STREET

The arrangement of lines and directions are based
on an envisagement of the binocular curvatures, the
focal point being the three figures. Thus the vision
is repressed by the curved lines alternately leaning
inward, and is carried back by the implication of
lines leaning toward and away from the eye. The
stereoscopic principle, intricately applied, gives to
this shallow scene the sensation of extended three-
dimensional space.

A scene like this — the Sleeping Beauty fairy-tale brought to life by the artistry of Joseph Urban and director

Robert Vignola — is just a flash on the screen; and yet it took hours to rehearse and cost thousands of dollars. Note

the spotlight thrown on Miss Davies and her leading man from the balcony.

PRETTY SOFT TO BE A STAR, EH?

Marion Davies tells a few of the little tilings
included in the daily routine of a picture queen.

By
HELEN BRODERICK

FADE in — the picture is flashed on the screen and the
audience settles back, hoping for something light and
cheerful or something profound and soul-stirring, accord-
ing to tastes and moods. The fate of the picture is in
their hands. To them it is unequivocably good or "rotten."
They are the sole and final referees.

The long weeks of work, the cost of the picture, the search
for a good story, the picking of the cast, the building of the
sets, the hunt for locations, mean nothing to them. And in
their oblivion to all these factors in picture making they are
prone to think that because an actress trips across the screen
in a dress of the latest mode and makes love to a prepossessing
hero her existence is one sweet song, that her salary is
too large and that, altogether, life is too gentle with her, too
"soft." And so they laugh lightly at the "movies" and picture
the life of the players as one orgy of unbridled gayety.

"It is to laugh!" says Marion Davies, when she reads some
of the letters written to her in which the youthful writer sighs

for the life of the "movie star" and begs to know how she. too,
can get into that enchanted life wherein with a magic wand
all worries vanish and life looms forth one golden dream.

"I should like to write a form letter," declared Miss Davies,
"which would disperse for all time the popular conception
of the tranquillity and ease of the life of my profession. Like
Martin Luther, I could formulate seventeen theses and nail
them to the doors of all persons who scoff at the 'soft snap' of
making pictures. Tentatively here are my seventeen:

"1. The life is one of unremitting work, calling for every
resource of mind and body.

"2. When you are drinking champagne at a noisy little
party in the picture you are imbibing the refreshing, inspiring
drafts of celery tonic. You are full of celery tonic, for you
had to rehearse the scene several times and then there are at
least a couple of 'takes' with the camera grinding.

"3. After you have done what you think the best emotional
scene of your life and venture excitedly into the projection

Photoplay Magazine

room the next day to congratulate yourself,
all quietly, you don't like it at all. 'Ter-
rible!' is your only honest verdict and the
scene must be taken again and you wonder
if you can recapture the feelings of the day
before.

"4. You read your reviews and if anyone
thinks that 'the morning after' is a joyous
awakening he is wrong. What you liked
the reviewer doesn't, and what he likes you
can't see. And none of them agree and you
don't know which is right.

"5. You go on a quiet vacation to a quiet
suburban spot where, incognito, you plan a
much needed rest. The town marshal, the
fire brigade and the mayor acclaim your
advent into their community.

"6. By the time you have paid your
respects to your unexpected reception com-
mittee and told them how 'interesting' is
the life of the screen, how 'appreciative'
you are of their 'interest' you are tele-
phoned from New York that the negative
is scratched and 'retakes' are in order.

"7. You are forever kissing a new leading
man when you would rather fondle the
neighbors' babies or expend your affection
on an ever-patient family.

"8. You plan a theater party for an even-
ing. The guests are all invited. Five
o'clock comes and there are four scenes yet
to do, the overhead expense is $2,000 that day
with 500 supers in ancient costume. If you
bolt you would feel a piker and so you call
off the theater party and blink at the lights
while you do as the megaphone says all
evening.

"9. You can't read the new novels you
ordered when you finally get home because
your eyes are worn out with the Klieg
lights. [Continued on page 99)

Campbell

BETWEEN SCENES, MARION DAVIES
DESIGNS HER OWN CLOTHES.

At the left: a smart and
simple riding habit, designed
by Marion Davies. It may
be done in linen or wool.
Inere are. Miss Davies ex-
plains, only three things to
consider for anyone who
wishes to make one like it.
These are the coat, the
breeches, and the buttons.
The neat bone buttons are
the only trimming, and
there are no intricacies what-
ever. The whole suit re-
quires three and a quarter
yards of material.

At the right: a dress of Miss
Davies own design. It was
made for the star in plaid
gingham and white; but it
may be made in any other
combination of colors you
choose. It has the charm of
originality, this frock ; where
else have you seen exactly
this development of the popu-
lar tuxedo effect? And do
not overlook the pockets.
This dress takes three and a
quarter yards of the plaid,
and one and a half yards of
the white.

The two patterns below are made on the same reduction scale
JYfi* for size 36.

How I Keep

in Condition

By
RUBYE DE REMER

THIS is the first of a series of articles by famous
beauties of the screen — not beauty articles, in any
sense of the word; simply advice on how to keep fit,
from women who have worked out systems in the least
amount of time. The motion picture star who cannot

work ninety per cent of the time and look her best,
will soon be "out." Therefore, beneath the beauty
and ability of screen celebrities must lie a firm founda-
tion of perfect health. Next month, Katherine Mac-
Donald will give her recipe for keeping fit.

IF there is any one thing in
the whole world that I hate
more than coffins, rain and

birthdays, it is keeping in
condition. I don't want to
keep in condition. I'd love to
be able to get fat or thin just
as the mood struck me, eat
Welsh rarebit at 4 G. M. with-
out seeing a spectre of a com-
plexion all gone to the Bronx
the next morning and never,
never, never take any exercise
as long as I lived other than
that involved in climbing in
and out of an automobile.

I despise exercise. I want to
eat what I want when I want
to eat it, I love to wash my
face in good soap and water,
and I prefer sleeping in the
daytime when possible.

However, I can't, and earn
an honest living as a motion
picture star, so with loathing
in every fibre of my being. I do
the things I have to do to keep
fit for my work, because I am
not naturally a very strong
woman and I know that I
could not keep working with-
out being in condition.

Also, though I may be a very
fine actress, if I lost whatever
looks with which the Almighty
has seen fit to bless me, I
wouldn't have a job very long.

My beauty creed therefore
is something like this:

I believe in massage more
than anything else in the
world. I believe in a variation
of hot and cold showers every
night and every morning. I
believe in strict, thoroughly-
tested diet. I believe in lots
of good cold cream. I believe
in walking, lots of walking,
whether you like it or not. I
believe in going to bed early
when you're working no matter

how many parties you are asked to. I believe in prohibition,
the anti-cigarette law and the Blue Sunday, if you're working
hard and aren't exactly fit.

Xow I live up to that just about as far as anybody in the
world lives up to a creed. Really I do.

I have to.

I keep a maid always who is an expert masseuse. I can
sew on a button or two if it's strictly necessary, and I can mix

Campbell studit

Rubye de Remer — whom Paul Helleau,

the famous French artist, called " the

most beautiful blonde in America.

my own face powder, but I
cannot give myself a massage.
Therefore I have a maid who
understands that art to perfec-
tion. And I have a massage —
a body massage because I most
emphatically do not believe in
massage for the face — every
day of my life.

Honestly, you have no idea
what it will do for you. Why,
it keeps me hard and in con-
dition, and it puts weight on
me where I need it and takes it
off where I don't, if you under-
stand what I mean. Followed
by a good salt rub — and, by
the way, my maid uses aro-
matic vinegar to massage me
with — I feel great.

Unless I am on a train or in
the middle of the desert on
location, I always have a
.shower bath. Bathing is a
great idea — you'd never dream
how much more it means than
just keeping clean, which I
suppose is the real reason lots
of people do it — and a shower
bath is the only correct thing.
I have an outfit that I had
made for me in Paris, that I
always carry so that even when
I'm away from my own home,
if there's running hot and cold
water, I can manipulate my
showers.

I have a regular system —
like seven come eleven — that
I've worked out all by myself.
First I take a warm shower,
letting it gradually get warmer
and warmer until it is so hot
that I couldn't possibly have
walked right into it. This re-
laxes the whole body, coaxes
out the nervous strain which
makes for flabbiness and age.
and rests you from the day's
work. Then instantaneously. I
turn on the icy cold water. I do
this two or three times and then vary it by using a warm shower
and an icy stream from a hose attachment at the same time.
My diet is a great care to me, especially when I'm working,
because I keep it strictly. I have to. The things I really like
to eat are never on my diet slips. I wonder why — I suppose
life is always like that.

Anyway, for breakfast I drink a cup of hot chocolate (with-
out whipped cream or sugar and what, (Continued on page 101)

THE PHOTOPLAY
MAGAZINE
MEDAL OF
HONOR

To be awarded to
the best production
of 1920, and annu-
ally thereafter to
the best picture of
the year.

Your Last Chance to Vote For the

Photoplay Magazine Medal of Honor

THE awarding of America's most distinguished artistic
insignia res s with you. The Photoplay is America's
greatest art. Greatest, because its patrons are not a
few collectors and connoisseurs, but the public: YOU.
The public is more appreciative than the potentates who
once upon a time guided the destinies of artists. Leonardo da
Vinci was dependent upon petty nobles for a livelihood.
Moliere's genius feasted upon the trivialities of a court. But
our artists do not belong to anyone save themselves. Their
works are given directly to the public they serve. The public
has heaped the wealth of the world — and all the world's fame —
upon them. And now — that public is conferring an award
more lasting, more impressive than any. Hundreds of thou-
sands of screen devotees have heard Photoplay's clarion — and
answered. The Medal of Honor Contest has found a ready
response in every American who ever saw a photoplay.

The ballots are coming in until the Magazine offices resemble
an Arctic landscape. Apparently every man and woman and
child who has ever attended a motion picture performance has
a keen interest in the ultimate owner of the Medal of Honor.
They want the producer of the Best Photoplay of 1920 to know
that his finest achievement is appreciated; they want him to
realize that it is well worth his while to keep right on making
photoplays of actual artistic excellence.

You are convinced that American motion pictures lead the
world, by every standard? If you are certain that the future

of the American film depends upon the realization of this fact
by American producers and public, then vote!

The only condition of the Medal of Honor Contest is that
the picture which you consider the best was released between
January 1st and December 31st, 1920, and that it was of Ameri-
can manufacture.

The Photoplay Magazine Medal of Honor has been perman-
ently established as an award of merit to the producer whose
foresight, whose artistic intelligence made his venture, his
money and his reputation in the industry in the selection of
the story plus director plus cast. Consider the excellence
of all these: theme, scenario, direction, sets, and acting.
Only the motion picture public, most representatively assem-
bled in the two and a half million readers of Photoplay
Magazine, is qualified to make the selection of the best
picture. No critic, no professional observer, is competent to
judge. In case of a tie, decision shall be made by three dis-
interested people. Fill out this coupon and mail it, naming
the motion picture which you consider the finest photoplay
released during the year 1920.

These coupons have appeared in four successive issues, of
which this is the fourth and last. All votes must be received
in Photoplay's New York office not later than October 1st.
You do not necessarily have to choose one of the list of pic-
tures below, but if your choice is outside this list, be sure it
is a 1920 picture.

Suggested List of Best Pictures for 1920

Behind the Door

Branding Iron

Copperhead

Cumberland Romance

Dancin' Fool

Devil's Pass Key

Dinty

Dollars and the Woman

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Earthbound

Eyes of Youth

Garage

Gay Old Dog

Great Redeemer

Heart of the Hills

Huckleberry Finn

Humoresque

Idol Dancer

In Search of a Sinner

Something to Think About

Jes' Call Me Jim

Jubilo

Love Flower

Luck of the Irish

Madame X.

Photoplay Medal of Honor Ballot

Editor Photoplay Magazine, 25 W. 45th St., N. Y. City

In my opinion the picture named below is the best motion
picture production released in 1920.

NAME OF PICTURE

Use this coupon or other blank paper filled out in similar form.

Man Who Lost Himself

Mollycoddle

On With the Dance

Overland Red

Over the Hill

Pollyanna

Prince Chap

Remodelling a Husband

Right of Way

River's End

Romance

Scoffer

Scratch My Back

Suds

Thirteenth Commandment

Thirty-nine East

Toll Gate

Treasure Island

Trumpet Island

Virgin of Stamboul

Way Down East

Why Change Your Wife?

Wonder Man

World and His Wife

CLOSE-UPS

&diiorial Expression and Timely Comment

THERE is merit in the Australian method of
dividing motion pictures into two classes, plays
for adults and plays for children. They arc
announced with a distinguishing mark — "A"
for grown-ups only, and with "U" for both adults and
children. No small part of motion picture censorship
movements in the United States take their impetus from
the zeal of persons who want all pictures denatured to
approved standards for juveniles. And, without at all
holding a brief for the makers of unclean pictures, one
may sometimes wonder how much of downright
parental laziness is represented in efforts at film censor-
ship. If all films are to be made safe for children, then
why not all books, all foods, all motor cars.

"T ITTLE Lord Fauntleroy" is at present being
*—* screened, and several interested fans have written
to inquire what the picture is going to be called? We
have not heard as yet, but we throw out the following
suggestions gratis: "Love Will Find a Way," "The
Bachelor's Awakening," "The Lie That Failed,"
"Who Is Your Wife's Husband?"

A LAW suit recently exposed the fact that a certain
advance salary check for 827,000, which had been
made out to a young artist 's model, duly photographed,
and disseminated broadcast by a Munchausen press-
agent, was, after all, but "a scrap of paper," designed
solely to inflame the public mind. If there were more
revelations of this kind concerning the fortunes which
are supposed to be paid by hard-headed producers to
inexperienced girls with little more in the way of
equipment than a pretty face and a desire to act,
fewer misguided young women would set out on futile
expeditions to find the pot of gold at the foot of the
cinema rainbow. There is, of course, in the silent
drama, as in many other lines of endeavor, adequate
remuneration for those who have genuine talent and
who are willing to begin at the bottom and studiously
work their way up. But the motion picture lot is
not a diamond field where any inexperienced prospector
can stake a claim and pick up Koh-i-noors at
random.

/1CCESSORY NOTE: — Ever since the idea gained
-*■* credence in the studios that crime was ineradi-
cably associated with waxed moustaches, and that no
villain was genuinely double-dyed unless the tuft of
hair on his upper lip was moulded into sharp projecting
points, there has been a serious shortage of Ed. Pinaud 's
tubes of Pommade Hongroise: and the price has jumped
from fifteen cents to fifty.

A WOMAN in love with her husband," says Mary
■**■ Thurman, "is a woman who combs her hair
every morning before breakfast."

THE downward trend of prices to "peace levels" has
reached the motion picture theater. A cut of
one-third in admission rates for their chain of theaters
in Chicago is announced by Jones, Linick & Schaefer,
one of the larger and markedly successful amusement
concerns of the middle west. This is more than likely
to prove a wholesome move and something of the

precedent for that region. One of the important
elements of the success of the motion picture has been
the very large amusement value obtainable at small
cost to the consumer. In point of entertainment value
at low cost the motion picture has no competitor and
the wise exhibitor will maintain the ratio. There is a
significance in recalling that in periods of unemploy-
ment and stringency in the earlier days of the motion
] licture it alone of the so-called luxury businesses escaped
with practically no diminution of prosperity. The
motion picture has continued to flourish in the times
when the public was buying solely on a value basis.

A PRODUCER has been making a bid for public
-** attention by publishing daily the mounting costs
of the picture on which he is engaged, with the totaling
nearing the million dollar mark as a grand climax.
Even stockholders are entitled to a thrill.

BROADWAY, for decades the midway of the nation,
famed in song and story as the Great White Way,
is well on its way to become just a street again. Latest
to pass into the fading memories of the Great Wet Age
are two of Broadway's most famous institutions,
Ziegfeld's Midnight Frolic, familiarly known as "The
Roof," and Churchill's Restaurant. Simultaneously
they closed. Simultaneously the managements, in
statements to the press, declared that prohibition had
nothing to do with their closing, blaming the falling
of business rather to the fact that picketing policemen
prevented anyone entering with anything "on the
hip." Thus it would appear that the amusement
purveyed required the alchemy of the still to give it
power.

HE show that can not hold a sober audience can
not compete with the motion picture.

BATHING girl extras will have to submit their
costumes to the official yardstick of the Morality
Police at Coney Island this season. Modesty goes by
measure hereafter. It would appear that New York
no longer will trust even the naked eye in matters of
nakedness.

CORSE PAYTOX. father of the "ten-twenty-
thirty," has filed a petition in voluntary bank-
ruptcy. In other better days he carried amusement to
the millions in the lesser communities. His success
became a byword and his name an institution. None
could wear diamonds so numerous and so large as
Corse Payton. None could make so grand a curtain
speech "thanking you one and all for your courteous
attention and hoping for your patronage next season,
etc." Then came the motion picture. Corse Payton
made his last stand in Brooklyn. Might there not yet
be a comeback for him on the very screens that took
away his empire?

AGAIN there is gossip of an impending merger of
some lesser film distributors. Mergers in the
history of film finance have frequently proven a pleasant
method of disposing of the remains without applying
to a bankruptcy court for a burial permit.

C PEAKING of the imported films: what do the
*~* gentlemen who found "Passion" subtle propa-
ganda against the French, and "Deception" spiteful
propaganda against the English, find that "Gypsy
Blood" is propaganda against? It must worry them
terribly.

THE Rev. Thomas Dixon thundered mightily and
effectively before the General Assembly of North
Carolina one day last Spring, speaking determinedly
against the proposed Varser-McCoin-Mathews bill,
an intended censorship enactment. Some of the
things he said are fit to stand as permanent indict-
ments of those who would throttle the free moral
agency of intelligent people. Among his -remarks were
these: "I don't believe God Almighty ever made a
man big enough or wise enough to say what human
thought shall be!" — and again — "Censorship in Ger-
many and Austria, vigorously enacted through dec-
ades, kept their monarchs on the throne and their
ancient systems in vogue until it took a world-war and
the slaughter of millions to let in the light."

A LEAN DWAN and Jim Kirkwood were talking.
■** "I found the lowest depth of ignorance the other
day," said Dwan, "when a little extra girl on one
of my Hollywood sets asked me if Manhattan Island
was near New York."

"I can trump that one," returned Kirkwood. "I
know a picture cowboy, who claims he bought drinks
for Babe Ruth when she was in the chorus."

RAPIDLY directors are learning that it is not safe
to be contemptuous of the public intelligence, and
more and more they are being wooed to the Spencerian
pronouncement that genius is an infinite capacity for
taking pains. Once anachronisms and parachronisms
abounded in our films. The average photo-drama's
disregard of the simplest verities was enough to make
old papa Zola — the inventor of naturalism — go spin-
ning round in his grave like a tortured turbine. Mod-
ern French sculpture adorned Neronian sets; gladiators
were encased in medieval armor; fiacres drove along
the canals of Venice; there were American telephones
in the bistrops of Paris; Christian martyrs were thrown
to the lions 200 B. C; Castilians and Aztecs conversed
without an interpreter. . . . But because of the public's
fast maturing critical acumen, such evidences of care-
lessness are rare indeed today. The excellence of
certain recent German films was due largely to their
minute adherence to the accuracy of details. The
German mind possesses an instinctive capacity for
meticulousness.

A FALSE vanity among some of the screen's young
ladies has kept them from playing parts in which
they had to clothe themselves in unbecoming garb;
or, if they played the part, this same vanity has led
them to dress far beyond the means and tastes of the
character portrayed. It has been this vanity which
has ruined so many Carmens. Carmen was an unkempt,
ignorant factory girl, and yet we have seen her pre-
sented in luxurious gowns of the richest fabric, with
sheer silk stockings, expensive mantillas and lace
fans worthy of a Pompadour. One of the reasons
why Pola Negri's Carmen in "Gypsy Blood" was so
convincing was because she had the courage to dress
the part as it should be dressed. And Mary Pickford,
too, has always had the courage to appear as a raga-
muffin whenever the exigencies of characterization
demanded it. Here are the two truly great cinema
artists — one European, one American — who do not
balk at truth, however unlovely, and who are willing to
let their reputations stand or fall upon their own capa-
bilities. There is a moral here for all who care to read it.

C IMILARITY in names sometimes begets injustice.
~ Not long ago a prudish lady, beset with Freudian
inhibitions, wrote to a newspaper protesting against
the publicity being given Mary MacLaren, and accus-
ing the journal of deliberately omitting from a sketch
of Miss MacLaren 's life "the disgraceful confessions
she once wrote, in which she boasted shamelessly of
her many lovers." The letter was turned over to
the literary editor for elucidation; and he at once
recognized the error. The indignant lady had the
confessions of Mary MacLane in mind; and she was
politely informed that Miss MacLaren was above
reproach and had never been an authoress — amatory
or otherwise.

""THE signing of the Censorship Bill has forever
*■ dashed our long-cherished hope that, before we
mounted the gallows and bade adieu to earthly tribu-
lations, we might behold a film in which the characters,
when retiring for the night, would attire themselves
like mortals in every-day life — the men in plain
pyjamas, the women in simple robes-de-nuit. We have
always wondered why, in the shadow drama, the men
never removed their socks or union suits at night, and
why the women always went to bed with their stock-
ing and slippers on and heavily clothed in under gar-
ments, petticoats and elaborate peignoirs. No wonder
they have to sleep sitting almost bolt upright against
a small mountain of bulky pillows!

OVERHEARD in a Long Island studio : "No, my
husband never goes to church. He doesn't seem
religious at all, but at that I wouldn't call him an
amethyst."

TTIE salacious divorce scandals which have recently
*■ been uplifting and ennobling us through the columns
of our great moral dailies, furnish further proof that
domestic infelicity does not exist exclusively in the
boudoirs of actors and actresses. The accusation that
the stage and screen are habituated to infidelity and
divorce is a time-worn libel. Because of the semi-
public nature of an actor's life, his domestic scandals
are always dragged forth and aired in public; whereas
the divorces of other persons — save in rare instance —
are passed over casually and with little notoriety.
The result of the exaggerated publicity which always
attends an actor's marital foibles has created the errone-
ous impression that the stage has not yet been made
safe for domesticity. It is one of the penalties of fame.

A S a nation we have long refused to take laughter
** seriously. We find it hard to realize that buffoon-
ery may indeed be the medium of great art or the
vehicle of profound truth. Too often do we regard
our humorists solely as sagnarelles and scaramouches,
when in reality they are artists deserving of serious
consideration. That is why our literature is almost
devoid of satire; for satire is truth disguised as jest.
But the day has come when we are beginning to recog-
nize the potentialities of comedy. Did not Belasco
see the dramatic possibilities which lay beneath the
burlesque caricatures of David Warfield? Are we not
at last giving Mark Twain his due as a great literary
genius? And is there anyone who does not now recog-
nize the splendid actor and subtle pantomimist beneath
the antics and grotesqueries of Charlie Chaplin?

A WELL-KNOWN actor was rehearsing the leading
**■ role in a picture made from one of Rupert Hughes'
novels. One day a friend asked Mr. Hughes if the
actor had read the book and was thoroughly familiar

with the psychology of the character. 'Too d d

familiar!" Mr. Hughes answered gloomily. "You
should see the liberties he takes with it."

WEST is EAST

A Few Impressions
By DELIGHT EVANS

WHEN I Heard
Marguerite Clark was In Town,
I Went Right Up to See her.
Her Big Sister, Cora,
Came to the Door.
"Marguerite? Why, Certainly —
Go Right In. There she is — "
I Looked Around
The Room, but
I Couldn't See Marguerite.
She Didn't Seem to be About.
There were
Three Little Girls
Drinking Tea in a Corner.
The Smallest One
Came Up to me, and
Said, "How do you do?" and
Wanted to Shake Hands. I
Said Hello to her, and asked
If she Knew
Where Miss Clark was.
"Yes," said the Smallest Girl.
"She's Right Here!"
Yes — you Guessed it —
It was Marguerite.
You Know
I Hadn't Seen her
For Four Years, and
She'd Been Married in the
Meantime; but
She Doesn't Look Married —
She's Younger and Prettier than Ever.
She Sat Down

In a Big Divan that was

Piled with Cushions, and for a Minute

I Thought I'd Lost her Again.
Then she Sat up very Straight and
Looked at her Diamond Wrist-watch

(And she has Diamond Bracelets
And Rings and Things — I Guess

Her Husband Wishes there was

More of Marguerite so

He Could Keep On Buying her Presents)

And she Said

"Harry is in Brooklyn,"

So Sadly — not because

He was in Brooklyn, but because

He was Away at All.

"He has been in Brooklyn

For Two Hours Now.

If you can Wait, I'd Like you

To Meet him."

Harry

Is Marguerite's Husband.

His Real Name

Is H. Palmerson Williams, but

He's Not Nearly as Bad

As all that.

They've been Married a Long Time,

As Marriages Go, but

It's one of those Romances

That Won't Wear Off.

"You should See

Our Great Big House

In Louisiana," said

Marguerite. " It's much too Big

For Just the Two of Us; but

Don't we Have Fun!

There are

Horses and Dogs and Chickens —

It's in the Country, you know —

We Only Go into New Orleans

It s one of those romances

at wont wear

off.

Once in a While

The People there

Used to be Thrilled

To have a Screen Star

In their Midst. Whenever I came

Into the Shops they'd Point and Say:

'Oh look — there's

Marguerite Clark!' But Now,

They're Used to it, and Just Smile

And Nod, 'How are you, Mrs. Williams?'

Jeanie MacPherson writes
scenarios and is an aviatrix.

Ooh — there's Harry!"

She Introduced him

As her Beau and he

Seemed to Like It.

Mr. Williams is Young and

Good-Looking. He Seems

To be Always Smiling — perhaps

He Can't Get Over Congratulating himself

That he's Marguerite Clark's Husband.

Everybody is a Little Bit Put Out

With Mr. Williams because

It Seems he doesn't Want his Wife

To Make Pictures any More.

But Marguerite Said:

"Harry doesn't Mind if I do

One or Two Pictures a Year, but

He won't Hear

Of Me Going Back on the Stage.

I May Go Abroad

To Do a Nice Story I have.

Did Everyone like 'Scrambled Wives'?

I Hope they did."

Just before I Left, Mr. Williams

Drew me Aside

And Showed me a Picture.

It was

A Sweet Little Picture of

A Tiny Girl

Of Two, with Big Brown Eyes and Curls.

"That's my Maggie — when she

Was a Baby," said Marguerite's Husband.

I Guess he Likes her Pretty Well.

I'm Glad she's Happy — aren't You?

1 Asked Jeanie MacPherson —
Just as Soon as she Returned
From Abroad —
All those Questions about
The European Invasion and did she think
America's Supremacy in the Film Industry
Was Threatened; and how
Were Conditions, and
Things like that?
I Thought

It was the Thing to Do.
It wasn't.
We Ended
By Talking About
The Clothes she'd Bought
In Paris.
Scenario Writers
Are Only Human — and
Miss MacPherson
Is a Very Good Scenario Writer.
She Writes

All Cecil deMille's Stories, and
It Keeps her Too Busy
To Worry about
Her Income Tax, which
Is Probably Something to Worry About,
"I don't Know Why," she said,
"Just because one Happens to
Write for a Living,
One isn't Expected to enjoy
A Real Vacation. This is My First one
In Years, and

I Didn't Do Any Work at all."
She's an Aviatrix, and wears
Her Wings in Diamonds.
She Brought back Frills from Paris, and
A Little Gun from Germany, and
Ideas. She was the Guest
Of General Allen in Germany and
Met Ernst Lubitsch in Berlin.
The Director

Saw deMille's "Forbidden Fruit" and
Almost Tore his Hair
Wishing he Could Get
The Electrical Effects
Like the Cinderella Scenes. That was
Jeanie MacPherson's Idea.
She Has Lots of them.

She got herself elected
warden for life. A
now on exhibition 1
Louvre shows her 1
act of enforcing the
season on deer.

VAMPS
OF ALL

TIMES

As seen when a

modern spotlight

is turned upon

ancient legends.

SVETOZAR

TONJOROFF

III— DIANA

ONE of the earliest things that the Olympian neighbors
noticed about Artemis — or Diana, as the Romans got
into the habit of calling her when she grew up — was
her distaste for dolls. Even as a very little girl, she
preferred to play with a bow and arrows. This preference she
maintained as she developed into womanhood.

The half-sister of Aphrodite on her father Zeus's side was
as different from that lady as it was possible to be. The dif-
ference is best illustrated by the remark she made to one of
her playmates when she was eleven years old. Seeing this
other girl holding hands with little Apollo in the back garden
of the Zeus palace, she exclaimed with fine scorn: "Oh, don't
be a silly!"

When she had grown into long dresses, she started out on a
campaign for the suppression of sentimental foolishness that
would have ended in the depopulation of the world if it had
been sufficiently pressed. Fortunately, however, Artemis had
too many other irons in the fire to devote all her attention to
the promotion of her pet scheme to establish the Universal
Society for the Prevention of Love-Making.

In Arcadia, for instance, she got herself elected game-
warden for life. A statue now on exhibition in the Louvre,
Paris, France, shows her in the act of enforcing the closed season
on deer. She has one protecting hand on the antlers of the
frightened animal, as it flees from the hunters, while her face,
unmistakably registering menace, is turned toward its pur-
suers. Her other hand is drawing an arrow from the quiver
slung over her shoulder.

In Ephesus, Asia Minor, Artemis was an entirely different
person from the rustic protector of wild things that she was in
Arcadia. Here, in a great temple numbered among the Seven
Wonders of the World, she held court in high state, surrounded
by highly sophisticated, and even sensuous surroundings. In
Ephesus, too, she appears to have dabbled in the arts of a
medium. Several successful seances, in which worshippers
were made to believe that they saw and heard the dead, were
credited to her in the local newspapers.

It was in Ephesus that, if all reports are true, she occasion-

ally relaxed from her stern opposition to family life. In fact,
there is evidence to show that she not only winked at but
actually encouraged the mating instinct. For this relief from
the rigors of her administration in Arcadia the Ephesians showed
their gratitude by making her Queen of Life and adopting as
their municipal motto the phrase: "Great is Diana of Ephesus!"
of which St. Paul so feelingly tells us in his memoirs.

In Tauris, now known as the Crimean Peninsula, Artemis
acquired extremely bad habits by associating with a local
Scythian goddess. This goddess insisted upon being worshipped
with human sacrifices. Artemis readily adopted the new
fashion and took it back with her on her next trip to Athens
and Sparta. Both Spartans and Athenians were deeply
shocked by the innovation but accepted it for the time being.
The scandal continued in Sparta until the time of Lycurgus
who substituted the whip for the knife. But it was agreed .that
the cure was hardly less painful than the disease.

In Tauris, too, Artemis started the first Know-Nothing
movement on record. A foreigner herself, she adopted
toward foreigners the heartless motto so movingly employed
by the Queen in "Alice in Wonderland": "Off with his head!"

Many an innocent pirate thus laid down his life upon her
Tauric altars.

In this phase of her many-sided activities Artemis furnished
to Euripides, the popular playwright and librettist, the plot
for one of the most famous dramas in the world. Offended be-
cause Agamemnon, the commander-in-chief and admiralissimcr
of the Greeks in the Trojan war, had killed a deer out of season
on her estate in Aulis, Beotia, the lady game warden would
be content with no less a reparation than the sacrifice of
Iphigenia, the royal huntsman's beautiful daughter.

With a furtive tear coursing down his weather-beaten old
cheek, Agamemnon finally assented to the cruel demand and
sent to Sparta for Iphigenia, on the pretext that Achilles, the
greatest hero of the Greek hosts, wanted her hand in marriage.
Iphigenia arrived blushing and expectant, only to be bound
hand and foot and placed upon the altar. At the last moment,
when Agamemnon's hand was poised (Continued on page 108)

Donald Biddle Keyet

¥ F YOU THINK that it was easy for a girl with May McAvoy's eyes to succeed,
•*• just ask May! Hard work is her only recipe for screen stardom. Miss McAvoy
has gone to California where she will soon create Barrie's "Little Minister."

JUST A LITTLE HOME IN CALIFORNIA!

YES— that's all !
Just a little house set in an expanse
of smooth velvet, with one of the finest
views in California fore and aft (see Chamber
of Commerce booklets) with stables and
kennels, private driveway, and rose garden.
In fact, the new home of Pauline Frederick
in Beverly Hills is much more comfortable
than any royal palace, and it has a lot of con-
veniences that the Italian Royal Plumber, da
Vinci, never dreamed of. By the way, you've
probably heard that Miss Frederick has
admitted a sort of tentative engagement to
re-marry Willard Mack, the actor-playwright.

FRENCH influence, the
home magazines would
sav, is apparent in Miss Fred-
erick's bedroom. What is ap-
parent to us is the feminine
influence. Shades of Marie
Antoinette— observe that bed!

'"PHE living room and a
•*■ glimpse of the library.
Any interior decorator can fix
you up a perfectly elegant
room — but do you notice that
these rooms look as if they
had really been lived in?

"VOU need only
A glance into this
dining room to under-
stand why it has been
the scene of many suc-
cessful dinners. "Polly"
is celebrated as a host-
ess, and celebrities of
the stage and screen
without number have
sat and smoked and
made epigrams, around
this little table.

PAULINE FREDERICKS
best friend and con-
stant companion has
always been — her mother.
Mrs. Tx>tta Frederick is
the chatelaine of her busy
stellar daughter's Cali-
fornia castle.

COMEONE once said
^ that you could tell
from the entrance hall
what the rest of a house
was like. If that is true,
then you know — the
moment you step into the
main hall of Miss Freder-
ick's home — that the other
rooms are as restful and as
charming as this.

Donald Biddle Keyea

/"X)NRAD NAGEL seems to be the favorite leading man
^ of the brothers deMille. First he served in William's
pictures; then Cecil's company claimed him. Married!

A/I ONTE BLUE has become so popular, they say, that
■*■* A he has had a song named after him. Ever since we
first saw Monte, we knew that was bound to happen!

Evana

T^HEODORE ROBERTS can express more emotion

■"■ chewing a cigar than many actors can chewing the
props. He is back on the lot after a serious illness.

VOU know that he is the brother of Owen and Matt;

-*- that he was married not so long ago to Renee Adoree.

Then there's nothing we can tell you about Tom Moore.

FIRST OF THE IMMORTALS

GEORGE LOAXE TUCKER, the maker of "The Miracle
Man," is dead; and in his death we catcli a clear glimpse
of a great truth which heretofore we have but vaguely
sensed.
Motion pictures did not exist before we of today existed,
and with our own eyes we have seen their inception and birth,
their growth and flowering. As a result, we have failed to
grasp their significance as a great and enduring force. The art
of the silent drama has seemed to us to belong in the category
of things immediate and familiar, and to be bounded by the
limitations of our own brief hour of consciousness.

But now in the sombre shadow cast by Tucker's death, a
broader vision must inevitably be ours; for, although he has
passed on, yet the art of the screen remains, richer and finer

for his gifts. And we now realize that those who follow in his
steps will also pass; and still there will remain the art they
helped create.

Tucker is the first of the immortals whose name is engraved
on the great silent tablets of motion picture history. How
young, indeed, are the films! And how vast their future must
now appear in view of the fact that only the first page in their
evolution has been turned — the first mile-stone reached!

Until now it has seemed that youth and motion pictures
were one — we have had no reason by which to gauge their
boundlessness; and the loss of Tucker is like the loss of a play-
mate, filling us suddenly with the sobering consciousness of
the evanescence of human life, and the swift, inexorable passage
of time. (Continued on page 104)

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THE CONQUERING POWER— Metro

REX INGRAM'S version of Balzac's "Eugenie Grandet"
is not the * spectacle that The Four Horsemen was
but it is in every other way a finer piece of work. Tne
thoughtfully worked out characterizations and the general
atmosphere are not only faithful to Balzac but go to make
absorbing and valuable entertainment. The sets were de-
signed by Ralph Barton, Photoplay Magazine staff artist.

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EXPERIENCE— Paramount

THERE are a dozen melodramas rolled into one in the
George Hobart allegory, and George Fitzmaunce has
extracted cinematographic value from each of them. It is
a simple and human preachment, and a wholesomely stirring
dramatic entertainment. Richard Barthelmess is Youth, and
is ably supported by Margery Daw as Love, and that
sterling actor, John Miltern, as Experience.

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WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY— Pathe

THIS is a careful screening of Rudyard Kipling s romance.
James Young s direction is excellent. Randolph Lewis
scenario is admirable. But — it is not the masterpiece it
might have been. The acting is good, but no more. But
you should see it and form your own opinion. It is better
than very many films and it is reverently and painstakingly
handled.

THE OLD NEST— Goldwyn

A FINE picture. Human to the core, true as fiction that
is compounded from the real adventures of life, whole-
some and sweet and clean as a nursery tale rewritten for
grown-ups, but never permitted to become childish or maud-
lin, it is backed by the good common sense of Rupert
Hughes. It is the simplest of stories. Mary Alden, gives a
fine performance as the mother.

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THE

SHADOW

STAGE

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Reg. U. S. Pat. OB.

A review of the new pictures

HOME TALENT— Associated Producers

MACK SENNETT'S sea-going maidens come into
their own in his latest production. It is seldom that
the screen has seen such exquisite photography as that of
Abbe, with the bathing beauties as models. A careless
attempt at slap-stick furnishes a jarring note, but the mer-
maids make up for it. An interesting departure from the
usual Sennett nonsense. And Phyllis Haver is in it.

THE AFFAIRS OF ANATOL— Paramount

CECIL DEMILLE, not Arthur Schnitzler. We leave it
to you wnicn gentleman has pleased our public more.
Wallace Reid s big moment comes in the great demolition
» scene, in which Wally smashes several car loads of Grand
Rapids furniture. Bebe Daniels, Gloria Swanson, Wanda
Hawley, Agnes Ayres and Theodore Roberts are present.
Good entertainment, but not for the children.

THE GOLEM— Hugo Riesenfeld

THIS new German picture is a masterpiece. It is perhaps
the most worthy of all the celluloid importations.
The legend of a Rabbi of medieval Bohemia who creates
and brings to life a gigantic figure of clay, it is presented with
a sweep and a sincerity of purpose that thrills and amazes.
It is, racially, Jewish; artistically it is international. A picture
that is a credit to the screen.

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE presents re-
views of the pictures released during
the preceding month in a conscientious
effort to be of real service. Our aim is to
assist you in saving your motion picture time
and money. In patronizing good pictures
you encourage deserving producers. It is
important for you to discourage insincerity,
mediocrity, salaciousness, and had taste by
refusing to patronize pictures with such
qualities. The reviewers of PHOTOPLAY are
unprejudiced, and are lovers of the motion
picture. While it is our belief that motion
picture producers should not be expected to
make pictures suitable for adults and children
alike, we will warn against pictures that
children should not see.

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SALVATION NELL— First National

THE screened beginnings of Edward Sheldon's "Salvation
Nell are a little too artificial to give the picture a solid
foundation. But once the real story is started it frequent-
ly achieves human drama, largely through the splendid char-
acterization of Pauline Starke as the girl who saves herself,
with the Salvation Army's help, and later redeems "her
man, splendidly played by Joseph King.

DOUBLING FOR ROMEO— Goldwyn

W/ILL ROGERS, collaborating with Will Shakespeare, has
W written a good comedy about a small town Romeo who
doesn t know how to make love, and who goes to Hollywood
to learn. Both of the talented authors deserve credit. In
the cast is young Jimmie Rogers, who is counted upon to
sustain the family bank-roll when his decrepit o'.d dad re-
tires from the screen — eighty years hence.

WEALTH— Paramount

POSSIBLY you believe without being told in black and
white on celluloid, that wealth does not bring happiness.
Whatever your theories, you 11 find some of them presented
here, and in an entertaining fashion. At times the frag-
mentary continuity halts the progress of the story, but Ethel
Clayton does excellent work in a well suited role. The fam-
ily can safely see this.

JOURNEY'S END— Hodkinson

HUGO BALLIN Kere combines the real with the unreal.
He gives us promise of an unusually good picture, then
veers off into a vague realm of unreality. Told without sub-
titles, the story will appeal strongly to the romantically in-
clined. It is artistic, and a picture that every member of the
family can witness. Mabel Ballin is charming and sincere
in the leading role.

SOWING THE WIND— First National

ATYPICAL "movie." The story of the convent-raised
daughter who returns to the world to find her mother
a scarlet lady has been over-worked since Sydney Cjrundy
put it into a play years ago. Consequently its resurrection
for picture purposes is not as interesting as it might be.
But Anita Stewart does much for the heroine by making
her a pretty and a sincere young woman.

DESPERATE TRAILS— Universal

COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER provided Harry Carey
with an excellent role in his recent magazine story,
Christmas Eve at Pilot Butte. ' Here is a real drama, and
Carey is an actor. Here, also, are the thrills, usual and un-
usual, so necessary to the western photoplay. Irene Rich is
convincing as the deserted wife of a gambler who sends our
innocent hero to prison in his place.

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CARNIVAL— United Artists

GODFREY TEARLE, brother of Conway, brought the play.
Carnival to America and scored a quick failure with it.
Now it comes back as a picture, improved as entertainment
because most of its scenes were actually taken in Venice and
provide not only an attractive pictorial background, but one
that is historically interesting as well. The story is too obvious
but it has its dramatic moments.

Photoplay's Selection

of the Six Best

Pictures of the

Preceding Month

THUNDER ISLAND— Universal

YOU will enjoy this romance of early Californian days,
with Edith Roberts as a whimsical Spanish senonta,
engaging in a series of wholly unbelievable and equally
fascinating adventures. She sails the seas, dives for pearls,
frustrates the villain and captures the hero. Just a pleasant
day s work for Edith.

A PRIVATE SCANDAL— Rcalart

NOT all the leading ladies of the screen who are elevated
to stardom on the strength of a single performance
deserve the honor, nor make much of it after it has been
bestowed. Little May McEvoy, however, gives promise of
proving the exception. Even with a fairly trite and labored
story she is intensely in earnest, employs her undoubted
charm of personality most effectively and poses prettily.

i. THE CONQUERING

POWER
a. THE OLD NEST
3. THE AFFAIRS OF ANATOL
^EXPERIENCE

5. DOUBLING FOR ROMEO

6. THE GOLEM

THE MOTHER HEART— Fox

REMINISCENT of the tales of Louisa M. Alcott is Shirley
Mason s latest release, a mild, pleasing little story,
quite censor-proof. Shirley, as the hired girl on a farm,
scatters sunshine as usual, saves daddy from prison and
makes life interesting for the tired hired man. The best of
her recent offerings.

THE GREAT MOMENT— Paramount

MIX together an unlimited number of lavish interiors,
silk cushions, inlaid telephones and potted palms, add
one Gloria Swanson ; pour in platitudinous sub -titles by
Elinor Glyn, with occasional double meanings for the sex-
starved; call it The Great Moment; shake well; and then
spray on any convenient screen. You will have a sure-fire
boxofnce attraction. You will also have a second rate movie.

OVER THE WIRE— Metro

IT quite complicates things, when a young lady, seeking
* revenge, falls in love with the object of her vengeance.
But it has been done, and now it is done again. Alice Lake is
pleasing but is overshadowed by George Stewart, who con-
tributes a remarkable bit of acting, Albert Roscoe and Alan
Hale, always a good actor.

LESSONS IN LOVE— First National

ALIGHT comedy, but entertaining. Connie Tal-
madge, president of the Bobbed Hair club, has saved
many a worse film story. The director, Chet Withey, has
also done his part to inject a new twist to the old story of the
girl who pretends to be her own maid until she can get a peek
at the strange young man who has been willed to her.

{Continued >m page S3)

THE CLOTHES OF A PERFECT DAY

HAVE you ever seen such a delight-
fully demure evening dress as
this? It is a dream flower developed
in georgette: the petals make the soft
skirt. The only decorations are
(lowers of water silk. Imagine a
blonde in this Gidding gown of French
Sevres blue! Surely she could not
wish a more youthfully enchanting
gown to dance or dine in.

TO dance away the cares of the day,
wear these shoes — one hesitates to
call the delectable trifles by so harsh a
word! — from Cammeyer. They are of
cloth of gold and black velvet with a
tiny buckle of rhinestones. The sheer
silk stockings are gold with a lacy
pattern.

WITH the Queen of Roumania —
that beautiful Queen who, rumor
tells us, is coming to America to become
a queen of films — leading a movement
to re-establish the national costume
among smart women of her kingdom,
this adaptation by Gidding is apropos.
The Roumanian embroidery brightens
the bisque canton crepe, and white
organdie yoke.

The Observations of
Carolyn. Van Wyck

JT seems to me, as I search the shops for
charming thi)igs to bring to you, that the

whole world waits upon the New York
woman! From Spain come her earrings, from
Ron ma nia the latest embroidery to trim her
frocks, from France her fans. And it is my
most pleasant mission to show yon, whether you
live in California or Connecticut, a few of the
things every nation contributes to the delight and
adornment of the American woman.

This month I am presenting to yon: The
Smartest Woman on Fifth Avenue. I hope you
will like her. She is the personification of
America's great street of beauty and fashion.
She has charm, chic, simplicity — as some one
has said, "nothing is so expensive as sim-
plicity!" She is gowned as every woman would
love to be gowned: in the height of fashion, in
the most perfect taste Every month I will
show you "the smartest woman." Please
watch for her.

ONLY an ingenue — and a very
young ingenue — can hope to
achieve perfection in this naive evening
frock. Black satin and white lace, a
deft drape and a coy bow of black at
the throat — to create from these such
a gown is indeed artistry. This
ingenue's bobbed hair lends a note of
piquancy. From Mallinson and Co.

ARTISTICALLV, the young lady
above is international. Actually,
she is any American. From sunny Spain
come her rare gold-spangled earrings,
and she wears one of the popular jade
pieces on a silk cord. From Noorian s,
New York. (The earrings and the jade,
not the international young lady.)

NOT TO MENTION THE EVENING

A FRENCH doll! Not the fluffy
blue-eyed kind, but the new
caricature doll. Here is Pierrot,
straight from the Parisian work-
shop of Marie Vassilieff. Pierrot
is only one of the quaint
conceptions of the celebrated
Mile. Vassilieff — who makes dolls
for Poiret, the French designer.

THE most unusual hat I have
seen is this, from Joseph.
It is of black silk, with its sole
ornament a huge bow of black
cire ' ribbon-. I am sorry a front
view is not permitted, but I
assure you it is charming from
every angle. It has a tilt that is
extremely alluring, this smart
chapeau.

SMiss Van IVyck's

answers to questions

•will be found on

page 1 06.

IN my afternoons on the Avenue, I find so many curious
and fascinating things I do not know which to describe
to you. The other day I discovered a beautiful bag
which has been sketched above. It comes from Vienna,
and has many flowers embroidered on the silk oval set
in the ivory frame. From the Ritz Art and Import Co.
Now that they are being worn by many smart women, I
want to show you what the Persian lady of fashion
considers the ne plus ultra of bracelets. The two you see
have been in vogue for many, many years! And last but
not least, something that one sees in every jewelry shop
in Manhattan: gold cases for dice.

I WISH to introduce to you
Ralph Barton, the artist! Yes,
that is M. Barton above — or rath-
er, his caricature by Marie Vassi-
lieff. By the way, every Parisienne
collects quaint dolls, and her
American sisters are beginning to
follow suit.

EVERY mood, every emotion
may be expressed by a clever
woman who understands the art
of using a fan. This one with its
black lace butterflies and its edge
of orange silk is from Joseph.
Bebe Daniels always wears with
her evening costumes an arm
band of silk flowers of the same
shade as her gown. Into it one
may tuck a small powder-puff.

AT Fifth Avenue and Fifty-
second Street, I found this
"smartest woman." Her cape
was of black satin cleverly draped.
The brisk breeze revealed that
the cape was lined in white.
Her frock was of black with a
white lace collar and long cuffs
that fell almost to her wrists.
L Her stick had an ivory knob.

"X^OU'RE not my mother, you know

I'm no child !" said Deffand to his wife.

"Oh,
yes you are, she replied. "I am — your mother, some. Every wife is. If it
weren't for the maternal in women, there wouldn't be any marriage! ... I can't
let you go to that other woman any more than I could let my little boy run out into
the crowded streets, with great trucks and tearing cars!"

DOG IN THE MANGER

The victory of a wife who
"hung on" after her husband
thought he was tired of her.

A Photoplay Fiction Contest Story

By
ADELA ROGERS ST. JOHNS

Illustrated by J. Henry

THE sun in Southern California can become as hot and
heady and scented as a steaming, creamy eggnog.
It is full of suggestion, full of romance, full of sense-
stirring perfume and lazy, luxurious, cushioning
warmth, into which you sink as though you had stepped into
a piled, crimson-and-gold cloudbank at sunset.

Provocative of easy-going pleasure, teasing into being every
inclination of man to "play", lacking the cold, the barrenness
that lays the lash of necessity and mortality upon the best of
us, it inspires in ordinary mortals a thrill of self-confidence that
makes them — for the while — demi-gods.

Not quite the lotus lure of the tropics, but a mischievous,
dimpling cousin.

It was a morning packed to the brim with all of this. On
the Hollywood hillside, the faintest breath of sea mingled,
tantalizing, with the musical summer air.

Paula Deffand, digging with her trowel about a bush of
gorgeous pink roses, went steadily on for several seconds.
When she had quite finished the little circle of rich, damp
earth, she sat back on her heels, pushed up her rough straw
hat, and regarded her visitor with eyes that held nothing except
their usual expression of quizzical good humor.

"My dear," she said in her rich, odd voice which had no
accent yet always suggested one, " I've never even heard of the
woman."

Kitty Glenn swung an exasperated racket at the nodding
roses. "Don't be simple, Paul," she said, "I didn't say you
knew her. I said Morgan knew her. Ask him."

Paula laid down her trowel, took a pair of clippers from the
pocket of her gingham apron and, after a deliberate survey of
the rosebush, began to prune off dead leaves and flowers.
"I've never had such luck with my Prima Donnas," she mur-
mured. Then, with a side glance, "Ask him? Oh, I couldn't.
Besides, he wouldn't tell the truth. Husbands traditionally
can't. Anyway, Morgan knows lots of people whom he's kind
enough not to bore poor me with. Kits, you read too many
novels. Still, you're a lamb. I suppose you're going to
Sunset Inn tonight. So I'll give you my two cherished Ulrich
Bruner buds. You couldn't buy those in California, child.
The labor they've cost me! Wear white organdy and those —
with your hair — and all the women present will consider the
evening a total loss."

She grinned amiably, cut the two crimson-black buds and
inquired suavely as she gave them to the giri, "How'd you
come out this morning?"

"I won a set from Jim," said the girl, shaking her head like
a colt held by the bit as the conversation slid so deftly from her
hands.

"Good. Next year you must take up golf with me. I'm
beginning to think you'd make a golfer after all. You show
stamina. And, Kitty," Paula Deffand went close to the girl
and one earthy, brown hand fell on the young shoulder,
"Kitty, when you've been married as many years as I have,
remember the one fatal thing is — talking, talking about things
even to your best friend. Talking makes such realities of
things. And it never does any good, because marriage is one
of those intangible things, like prohibition, that you can't tell
about. It's a state of mind, a soul, a heart beat. Like murder,

no one knows the truth about it but the two that it actually
happened to.

"If you decide to marry Jim Dunholme, just remember that
a wife always has eighty percent the best of it — if the marriage
is legal, if a woman can only — stand the gaff, her husband
will come back to her almost every time.

"Now, goodbye, darling. As you go by the house will you
ask Harper to bring me a pan of warm water and a package
of gold dust? There never was a gardener I'd trust to wash
rosebushes and I want to finish these before lunch. I may see
you tonight. Morgan may want to run down for a while and
I think I'll come with him."

She sent her cheerful, courageous smile after the girl. But
when the boyish figure in tennis white had disappeared around
the pergola-ed corner of the big, rambly white house, she sat
very still for a long time.

" Daphne Cheltenham," she said with a wry mouth. "What
an absurd name! Perhaps it's because I've been hearing it a
bit too often lately, even for me. What's in a name, anyway —
especially when it's not your own. It can't be. Probably
Maggie Jones."

As she carefully washed her rosebushes, she knew she was
feeling again that sick, helpless sensation, as though she were
sitting in the center of a whirlpool. Every now and then her
heart missed a beat in a panicky flutter. She could control her
mind to a sort of deadly, logical calmness, but the sixth sense
of wifehood persisted in giving her the agonized moments of
warning.

"Must I start all over again? Must I go through all that
again?" she thought and she knew she felt as a soldier must
feel — not the first time he goes over the top, when the drama
and uncertainty and excitement are holding him up — but the
second and the third and the fourth time, when he knows
exactly what he is going into, the sickening odors, the horrible
noises, the filth and ugly, treacherous danger, the cold and
disgusting fear.

When she had taken her shower and brushed her short, dark
hair, she went out onto her porch-sitting room and asked the
maid to bring her lunch there. Sitting with her tea cup, her
ivory cigarette holder in her hand — companion of many long,
nerve-racked vigils — she looked long out across the smooth,
terraced lawns, beyond the vine covered tennis court and the
tangle of wild oaks, across the acre of roses and the valley of
orange trees, to the high gray stone wall that enclosed her home.

How she loved it!

Her gaze rested an instant on the wide, rambling wing that
shot away to the right, entirely separated from the rest of the
house, where she fancied she could hear the erratic click of
typewriter keys.

And as she looked her face grew suddenly old and tired, and
into her eyes came that pale light of weary knowledge that
knows no age, no country — the look of a woman whose heart
is a thousand years old.

Kitty Glenn, sitting at a table with eight or ten people, looked
up quickly as she heard a woman's shrill voice nearby saying,
(Continued on page 64)

She felt his hands, strong, eager, against the silk of her garments, his lips seek-
ing her instinctively, blindly. While her breast rested almost yearningly against
him, her head, with a proud gesture, flung back like a snake, poised to strike.

Photoplay Magazine

"Oh, look, there's Morgan Deft'and. Who's that with him?"

"That's his wife," said Kitty briefly, to the world in general.

One of the women at her own table laughed. "Really?
Well, that's a new one, isn't it?"

Kitty drew her straight, angry young brows together and
gave the woman an insulting stare. " I don't see anything new
about it. They've been married twelve years."

The woman — a pretty thing in red taffeta — smiled.
"Really?" she said again. "She looks older than he."

"I should think she would, poor thing," said the man beside
her. "But she's darn attractive."

"Do you think so?" asked another girl, on Kitty's side of
the table, who because she was sitting down looked as though
she had on no clothes at all, "I don't. Lots of style, of course —
wonderful clothes. She would have. But her face is so hard,
and cold."

Kitty, clenching her small teeth above the hot words in her
throat, turned to look. It had been a long time since it had
occurred to her to look at Paula Deffand. She had almost
forgotten what the outside of her was like, so well she knew
and loved the inner things.

She saw a slender, dark little woman, in a marvellous frock
of dull silver and a flaring black hat of the kind that spells
a leap ahead of the fashion. She wore long, white gloves,
so that only the really lovely
curve of her shoulders was
visible, and about her slim,
olive throat a string of enor-
mous, square emeralds, flatly
set in platinum. She was
sitting very straight in her
chair, against the garish blue
and gold wall of the cafe, very
straight and altogether still,
with a poise and dignity that
set her apart from the other
women in the room — exotic,
modern, restless women.

But her face — Kitty's
young mind stopped short of
the things that face must say
to anyone who had drunk the
rank, acid cup of life. She
saw only that both the man
and the woman had been
right — that Paula Deffand
was no longer pretty, but
that she maintained her at-
traction because of a superb
flair for clothes, even though
her face was hard and worn
and the make-up failed to
cover the lines about her fine,
dark eyes or the bitter, hurt
curve of a mouth that had
once been as sweet as a
smiling baby's.

"What marvellous jewels,"
said Mrs. Essex, the pretty woman in red. "They say he's
the most generous thing. She gets everything she wants
out of him."

"He can afford to be," her partner said, amiably informa-
tive, as the orchestra began a swaying, barbaric tune. "He's
made — well, nobody knows how much money. Why, he got
$100,000 for the picture rights to 'The Come-Back' alone.
But he sure spends it."

"Well, I think he's the most fascinating thing I ever saw in
my life," said an older woman, a Mrs. Van Duzen who played
propriety for the young people of this group when they went
cabareting. "No wonder he's fickle."

"How do you know he's fickle?" demanded Kitty Glenn,
in an outraged voice. "You all make me sick. Sit here and
talk and whisper and criticize a woman you don't know and
who wouldn't look at any of you — because she's got more
sense than all the rest of us put together. How do you get
that way?"

The pretty woman, whose husband happened to be sitting
at Kitty's bare, white shoulder, unsheathed her claws. "Well,
my dear, I'm sure I don't know why you should champion
Morgan Deffand. Really, I don't. I admit he's adorable.
Of course, you may be a bit young — though I didn't know
girls were any more — to know all the things they say about

HEEDLESS MOTHS." despite whatever
claim it may make as a story or dramatic
photoplay, is nothing but a bold Did to
indecency. Produced by Perry Photo-
plays, it is the characteristic exhibition
of certain new producers who bring nothing into the
field but an insincere vehicle to make a little tainted
money. Its star is Audrey Munson, who may or
may not be remembered in an undraped celluloid
demonstration satirically called Purity. Heedless

Moths had to have a story, and this one is laid in
Greenwich Village, that over-rated and so-called
artistic quarter of New York City. It is not an inter-
esting story. It is a tiresome play. And let us hasten
to add, in order that no craven pulse may quicken
■with anticipation, it does not even purvey the prurient
thrill which is its thinly-veiled pretense. No one
knew better than its producers that downright un-
cleanness could not be shown at all. So that all we
have left is mock sentimentality, lachrymose titling,
a considerable extent ot unnecessary and unstimu-
lating epidermis, and — boredom. Don t patronize it,
for it is not worth your attention from any angle.
If you do patronize it, you are adding fuel to the in-
tolerant name of censorship.

him, but as for his love affairs — even you in your cloister must
have heard of Daphne Cheltenham."

Kitty lit a cigarette with a vicious gesture — as though she
were setting fire to the pretty woman's eyebrows — and gave
her an open stare of such brutal hostility that she actually
paled a little. "You see," said Kitty, quietly, for her 20tii
Century youth was tempered with the foundation of good
breeding, "it seems a bit stupid that you shouldn't remember
that Mrs. Deffand happens to be my very dear friend. And —
who is Daphne Cheltenham? The name sounds very grand,
but I never heard of her in my set."

Mrs. Essex was facing the door. The rather blank look
that had come over her face as Kitty spoke, gave way to a
smile so full of malice that it seemed about to melt the rouge
on her cheeks. "Why, there's Daphne Cheltenham now."
she remarked. "I wonder if Mr. Deffand knew she was
going to be here."

Coming through the swinging doors was a girl in a squirrel
cloak. She was quite tall and her white throat rose above the
clinging gray fur in a long, sensuous, melting line. She wore
no hat and her hair, which was warmly blonde, was too elabor-
ately dressed, but even that could not take one whit from the
highly-colored vivid beauty of her young face. Her eyes were
as green and as shallow as the Irish seas. Her mouth was as

ripe and dripping as a pome-
granate and it gleamed in the
dazzling lights as though it
was hot and wet.

Kitty felt a primitive long-
ing to sink her nails into the
girl's beautiful, pink face.
Yet her soul took cour-
age, for when she looked
at the woman with the emer-
alds who sat so still beside her
husband, this girl's colorful
beauty seemed coarse and
overdone because of the
steady white flame that was
Paula Deffand.

There was a silence in the
room — partly tribute to the
beauty of the newcomer,
partly a mental cogitation on
the part of the many people
there who knew the same
gossip that had swirled its
way about Kitty Glenn's
table — people who knew
Morgan Deffand so well, his
wife so little. Then a rush of
voices and the scream of the
orchestra bridged the cavern
of silence.

"Holy mackerel, isn't she
stunning?" said young Jim
Dunholme.

Mrs. Essex laughed. The
sound was like the rip of a stiletto through soft flesh. "Yes.
She's as beautiful as Morgan Deffand is handsome. What
a pair they'd make, if only — " she shrugged lightly.
"If only what?" asked Kitty, with ominous quiet.
"Oh, my dear Kitty, why be so ingenue? If only that cat
ot a wife of his would step out of the way and give him his
freedom. You know it's too absurd to be blind to things that
exist. Everybody knows. Morgan Deffand is one of those
people you can't help knowing things about. Ordinary men
may do lots of the same things — but we aren't: interested.
That's why everybody has known for a long time how unhappy
he is with her. But this thing — with a girl like Daphne
Cheltenham who has beauty and talent and youth — it's
really too much."

"Personally," said Mrs. Van Duzen, in a sort oi lazy enjoy-
ment, "I've no sympathy left for Paula Deffand. I used to
feel sorry for her, and all that, but a woman should stand so
much and no more. I blame her absolutely for going on.
If a woman won't give a man up when he wants to be lree —
if she insists on staying after he's tired of her — then she must
take her medicine, that's all I've got to say. It's coming to
her. She can always get out."

"Well, I daresay the emeralds and the limousine and the
servants and the clothes help some. {Continued on fxi^c 91)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

How to have the lovely nails

that are today expected of everyone

Well-groomed hands are today
a social and business necessity

Photogrnph b\ Baron de Meyer

This photographic study of a perfectly kept

hand ivas posed especially for Cutex

by Mary Nash.

These three simple operations
keep your nails always lovely

First, the Cuticle Remover. Dip the
orange stick wrapped in cotton into the
bottle of Cutex, work around the nail base,
and then wash the hands. The ugly dead
cuticle will simply wipe oif.

Then the Nail White. This is to re-
move stains and to give the nail tips an
immaculate whiteness. Squeeze the paste
under the nails directly from the tube.

FIVE years ago manicuring was a
social nicetv. But today well-
groomed hands are a social and busi-
ness necessity. Unkept nails cannot
pass muster either in society or in busi-
ness anymore than neglected teeth or
untidy hair — and they are criticized
just as severely.

Cutex, by doing away with the old
harmful method of cutting thecuticle,
has made manicuring so simple and
easy that everybody can keep their
own hands always perfectly mani-
cured. No more harmful cutting of
the cuticle! Instead you take off all
the hard, dry edges of skin about the
base of the nails with Cutex Cuticle
Remover — quickly, easily, safely.
You can hardly believe your eyes
when you see the dry, dead cuticle
that you used to have to clip away,
disappearing as dirt flies before soap
and water!

Then, with the Cutex Nail White,
a pearly whiteness under the nail lips.
Finally — a lovely, jewel -like lustre
with one of the marvelous Cutex
Polishes ! There are five of these so
prepared as to meet every taste and
every need. Ifyou like a very brilliant
shine, instantaneously and without
burnishing, that will last a week with
frequent hand-washings, try the new

Marvelous new Liquid Polish added to
Introductory Set. Set now only 15c

A sample of the marvelous new Liquid Polish, that
gives an instantaneous shine — lasting and brilliant —
without buffing, has been added to the Introductory Set.
Send for the set today — now only 1 5c — less, actually,
than you've been able to get it for before. Fill
out this coupon and mail it with I 5 cents to-
day to Northam Warren, 114 West 1 ^th
St. , or, ifyou live in Canada, to Dept.709, 200
Mountain St., Montreal.

Finally the Polish. A delightful, jewel-
like shine is obtained by spreading the
Powder or Cake on the palm of the hand
and rubbing the palm swiftly across the
nails of the opposite hand.

Mail this coupon
with 15 cents today

Cutex Liquid Polish. Then there is
the Powder Polish, the best and quick-
est you have ever used. And Cake
Polish, the old favorite, so economical
and convenient ; and the Paste Polish,
that tints as well as polishes; and the
Stick Polish that every woman likes
to keep in addition to all the others,
just for her handbag.

•So easy, and the results
amazing

With Cutex you will find it actually
a rest and relaxation to do your own
nails. And you will be amazed at the
results. The first trial of the Cuticle
Remover is alwavs like a miracle. It
is a delightful surprise, also, to find
that you can give vour nails that really
professional touch of grooming that
you get from Cutex Nail White and
the Cutex Polishes.

A Cutex Set is a great
convenience

Cutex Sets come in three sizes — the
"Compact," at 60c; the "Travel-
ing,"at $1.50; and the "Boudoir,"
at $3.00. Or each of the preparations
comes separately at 35 c. At all drug
and department stores in the United
States and Canada.

Northam Warren,

Dept. 709, 114 West 17th Street,

New York City.

Name

Street

City and State.

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

STARS
AND

A film sovereign
doesn t just go out
ana buy an auto-
mobile, like you or
I. No — be bas one
especially designed
for bim. Below is
Tony Moreno s
Cadillac. Tony
likes a one-man
top, and tbis is a
perfect example of
bow it sbould be
done.
Stagg Photo

THEIR
CARS

Tbe photographer
really set out to
take a picture of tbe
car, but tben Lila
Lee, wbo owns this
Apperson, came
along, and as a re-
sult you see more
of Lila tban you do
of tbe swift and
sumptuous cbanot
tbat takes her to
work.

Tbere is sometbing we
like about Kathenne Mac-
Donald. Here it is. This
Stutz coupe sets off Kath-
enne s cool beauty to
perfection. It doesn't

look as if it's seen many
rough trips, serving as
a dressing-room.

Since Roscoe Arbuckle is
the largest star, he has
tbe largest — and showiest
— car. His custom-
built Pierce Arrow cost
$25,000. Some of tbe
reasons are its size, its
special color — royal blue
— and its costly fittings.

It seems to be
Wally Reid's ambi-
tion to own all the
little red automo-
biles in the world.
His pet plaything is
this newStutz
speedster, which is
very bright and
very swift.
Stage Photo

Another group of

STARS AND THEIR CARS

appears on 'page 68

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Great merchants recommend
washing fine linens and
cretonnes this way

" ' I 'HE Linen Store" is the name by which James
I McCutcheon 6C Company, New York, has been
known since 1854. You will find there all kinds of
beautiful linens — luncheon sets, scarfs and doilies,
beautifully embroidered or trimmed with exquisite
lace.

One of the largest makers of fine chintzes and
cretonnes is F. A. Foster 6C Company of Boston
and New York, makers of Puritan Mills Drapery
Fabrics. Nowhere will you see more beautiful de-
signs or more gorgeous colorings than in their
draperies, whether they are of tapestry, cretonne or
cjuaint printed cotton.

The laundering directions endorsed by McCutcheon
and Puritan Mills, with those of leading makers of
silks, woolens, cottons, blouses, and frocks, are given
in our new booklet, "How to Launder Fine Fabrics."
Expert directions. Write for your copy today.
Lever Bros. Co., Dept. S'Q, Cambridge, Mass.

Wash fine linens and cottons this way to
Preserve their delicate texture

Whisk one tablespoonful of
Lux into lather in very hot
water. Let white things soak
a few minutes. Press suds
through. Do not rub. Rinse
in 3 hot waters and dry in sun.

For colored cotton "wash goods,
make suds and rinsing waters
almost cool. Wash very quick-
ly to keep colors from run-

ning. Lux won't cause any
color to run not affected by
pure water alone.
Lace or net curtains should
be soaked in clear, cold water
before washing.
Linens should be ironed while
still damp. Iron half dry on
the wrong side and com-
pletely dry on the right.

Famous manufacturer

tells how to wash
cretonnes

I The tmportance ofany Cre-
tonne is >ts color effect. We

have expenmented wtth Lux
in washing some of our bra

liantly colored Cretonnes and
Chintzes and in no mstance

was the color injured.
Weattnbutethisto the form

and purity of Lux. Analysts
Sow! Lux to be entirely free

from any harmful agents

The Lux flakes are so thm
that they d.ssolve very quickly
and form a thick lathe, Th-s
obvutestherumousrubbrng
wtth cake soap and thedts-
advantage of a thick flake «
chip which dissolves «npe -
frctly and clings to the ma-
terial. Th.s of course yellows
and weakens the fibre-

We recommend that Cre-
tonne users launder our wash-
able drapery fabrks w.th Lux
^ we are convtneed Jt wdl
produce gratifymg results.

PURITAN MILLS
DRAPERY FABRICS

"The Linen Store"

tells how to care

for linens

The beauty and wearing qual-
ities of a fine lace or em-
broidered piece of linen largely
depend on the care used in
laundering and the kind and
quality of soap employed.

We are advising our cus-
tomers to wash their linens in
Lux, because we have found
this the simplest and safest
way to care for them. There

nothing in Lux that could
injure the finest textured linen
or the most delicate lace or
drawn work. Rubbingsoapon
fine table linen or rubbing it to
get soap or dirt out is especially
hard on lace-trimmed linens
or those with handwork. It
also tends to roughen and
coarsen the texture of the
linen itself.

Our experience in rhe laun-
dering of finelace and embroid-
eries has proved beyond ques-
tion the value and reliability
of Lux. For the laundering
of fine articles we know of
nothing better.

james McCutcheon & co.

urn

Won't injure anything pure water alone wont harm

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOI'I.AY MAGAZINE.

STARS AND
THEIR CARS

(Continued from page 66)

A snappy setting for
Mary Thurman with
her stunning bobbed-
banged hair ana her
prize Peke, is this
Haynes speedster. We
don t know whether
she has ever broken
any Orange County
speed laws with it. but
we know she could if
she wanted to.
* Keystone Photo

At right — a Haynes of a
different type, an appro-
priate vehicle for Claire
Windsor. This brougham
is Claire s idea of a
marvellous motor. It is
ours too.
Keystone Photo

Betty Blythe in her spe-
cially built Peerless sport
model. It is painted a

brilliant red, with red
patent leather cushions.
Betty particularly likes
the sliding plate-glass
windows that give her
either an open or closed
car, according to the
weather and her desire.
Stagg Photo

Wmmm

^^™"

- Wi

\ vj

1 . ■ ■■

s^J^tSm

l«**-'--s .if

SimM

9£=^H 1

««^

HUHfiSSE

-_'-_

At the lower left :
One of the most unusual
cars in California : Tom
Mix s custom-built Loco-
mobile. It is a mahogany
red with saddle-colored
upholstery. Notice the
leather strappings on the
door, studded in exactly
the same patterns as
Tom s saddle.

This car- — a special body
on a new Winton owned
by J. Parker Read. Louise
Glaum s manager — is
particularly noticeable for
its all-nickel hood. The
body is a biscuit yellow.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The tooth paste
keep your

As you know, Nature provides alkaline
saliva to counteract the acids of fermen-
tation in your mouth. A mild acid in-
creases this saliva flow: as when you
taste lemon.

Naturally, then, Listerine Tooth Paste
— containing a small amount of a mild
fiuit acid — helps Nature keep your
teeth sound.

Note next time how your mouth wate-~

that helps Nature
teeth sound

when you brush your teeth with this
delightful paste.

A very fine powder, calcium phosphate,
is the cleanser. It leaves a fresh, clean,
polished feeling about your teeth.

Thus Listerine Tooth Paste provides
an easy, sure, and pleasant way to guard
against tooth decay and pyorrhea. It
is made by the makers of Listerine.
You've known them for years.

LAMBERT PHARMACAL COMPANY. SAINT LOUIS, U. S. A.

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

(S3

Do °<Ji

Title Ree. U. S. Pat. OR.

' / 'HIS is YOUR Department. Jump right in with your contribution.
■*■ What have you seen, in the past month, that was stupid, unlife-
Uke, ridiculous or merely incongruous? Do not generalize; confine your
remarks to specific instances of absurdities in pictures you have seen.
Your observation will be listed among the indictments of carelessness 01
the part of the actor, author or director.

That was tin- Miracle

IN Elaine Hammerstein's picture, "The Miracle of Man-
hattan," Elaine is paid thirty dollars a week for singing
in a basement cabaret, where a large glass of beer is served
for rive cents. L. G., Chicago.

Blame C lipid

IN "The Love Special," did you notice how Wally Reid drove
the locomotive through the snowstorm with the throttle
closed? E. L. Hunt, Chicago, 111.

Influenced by the General Drought?

TX "The Devil's Garden," with Lionel Rarrymore, when Will
* Dale (Barrymore) plunges into the rapids in an effort to save
the life of the gypsy, they are both rescued from the whirlpool
by men on shore. When they are dragged to safety they are
both supposedly unconscious and ot course wet to the skin.
But in the very next flash, they are shown in the self-same
position with their clothing as dry as prohibition!

Dorothy S. Ginn, Flushing, L. I.

The Soulful Cinema

T\ Vivian .Martin's "Song of the Soul," Mi
*■ young wife, puts her
baby to bed — at night,
of course — and returns
to the living room only
to discover that her
husband is mis ing.
Then suddenly we see
her in an adjoining
room conversing excit-
edly with the nurse —
and the scene is
streaked with sunlight.

L. C. R.,

Brooklyn, X. V.

Martin.

the

Our Hirsute Heroes

EUGENEO'BRIEN,
in "Gilded Lies,"
was rescued from a
blizzard and taken in-
to the hut of an old
man and his son. Eu-
gene evidently had not
had a shave in many
unions as his beard had
grown excessively. But
when he removed his
hat, his hair was closely
trimmed and smooth as
if it had just been
brilliantined.

And Rudolph Valen-
tino, as leading man
for Alice Lake in "Un-
charted Seas, " — when

after days of wandering the two lie down to die in the ice — has
a heavy beard. But a little later, when he awakens to see a
ship coming to save them, his beard is gone!

Marie W., Los Angeles, Cal.

COLD HANDS MEAN A WARM HEART Y' KNOW

IN 'The Love Special,"' Wallace
in front of the stove — they have
hand lightly touches the stove as sh
towards her to whisper a few words
a while.

She Must Have Changed Her Mind

T N "Without Limit," Anna Nilsson is seen examining with
*■ much disgust a very worn pair of satin slippers, which she
forthwith relegates to the corner of the room and in a shower of
tears throws herself on the bed. The subsequent "shot" re-
veals her feet still clad in the alreadv discarded footwear.

M. L. O., Jersey City, N. J.

No Mai De Mer for Miss Calvert

TX Catherine Calvert's picture, "Dead Men Tell Xo Tales,"
* the good ship Lady Jertnyn is seen plowing her way through
the high seas, yet it does not seem to rock or toss while in
motion. I should like to book passage on this ship the next
time I sail. David A. Moylan, Hasbrouck Hts., X. J.

Living in the Past

T \ "The Greater Claim," the young hero sends a telegram
*■ to his father announcing his marriage and the date is Sep-
tember, 1°20. His father "abducts" him. puts him on a boat in
which he sails awa\ — and the young man is seen marking off
the days as they pass on a 1917 calendar!

A. M. H., Saratoga Springs. X. V.

All's Fair in War.
TACK HOLT, in the
J Civil War drama
"Held by the Enemy,"
lights his smoke with
safety matches.

Louise M. Cooper.
Manistee, Michigan.

Imaginative Xorbert

IX ''The Passion
Flower" we wonder
how Xorbert got the
idea that he had been
shot. The three
brothers weren't even
aiming at him. Judg-
ing from the rakish an-
gle at which they held
their shot-guns one
would think they were
taking an "indirect"
shot at poor Xorbert,
expecting that the bul-
lets would crash
through the roof and
hit him "on the top of
the head.

Jacques Ramon

La Deveze,
Providence, R. I.

How Should We Know?

WHEN Ina Claire,
as "Polly With a
Past," kisses Ralph
es the print of her lips
ipes it off on his hand-
n. Did they crawl or
Stockton, California.

Reid escorts Agnes Ayres to a chair

just come in out of a blizzard. Agnes

e pas"s — but poor Wally, as he leans

rests nis hand on the stove for quite

Ethel Grove, Fort Worth, Texas.

Graves and calls him her hero, she lea\
high up on his cheek. But when he w
kerchief, the print is down by his chi
jump? G. H.,

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

This is an actual photograph
of W. S. Hart's hand
holding an OMAR.

William S. Hart — known to all of us as
Bill "— holds an OM AI^ just as easily
as he does bridle, pun or lariat

They always go together —
Damon and Pythias
Crackers and Cheese
Barnum and Bailey

and

OMAR and AROMA.

OmarOmar spells Aroma
Omar Omar is Aroma
Aroma makes a cigarette;
They've told you that for years
Smoke Omar for Aroma.

Thirteen kinds of choice Turkish and six
kinds of selected Domestic tobaccos are
blended to give Omar its delicate and dis-
tinctive Aroma.

— which means that if you don't like
OMAR CIGARETTES you can
get your money back from the dealer

When you trrlte to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

" Why, I could write a better story than that !

Thousands say that, just as you have
said it dozens of times

Perhaps you could

HPHE motion picture industry extends a

-1 genuine welcome to you to try; and

offers you fame and fortune if you succeed.

The industry faces the most serious
shortage of photoplays in its history. It
needs, and will liberally pay for, 2,000
good scenarios. Not mere ideas, not
patchworks of incident and action, but

connected, workable stories for the screen.
It is because the studios cannot obtain
sufficient good material that so many
thousands of patrons are criticising so many
of the pictures shown.

And it may be that you, who can tell a
good from a bad picture, can help.

" But," you say, " I am not a writer. I am only a
housewife — or a salesman" — or what ever you are.

Many who are now successful might have looked
at it that way. But they didn't. They tried; and
some of them now enjoy big incomes. We dis-
covered their ability and the rest was a simple
matter of training.

A nation-wide search for story-telling ability

Here and there among the millions of men
and women who attend the picture shows
the essential talent for photoplay writing
exists. And the Palmer Photoplay Cor-
poration, with the cooperation of ieading
motion picture producers, has undertaken
to locate it. By means of a novel and in-
tensely interesting questionnaire, prepared
by expert scenario writers, it is able to
detect the latent ability in any person who
will seriously apply the test. If the subject
interests you, you are invited to avail of
this free examination.

The Palmer Photoplay Corporation is
primarily an agency for the sale of photo-
plays to producers. Its Department of
Education is a training school for scenario
writers — a school that selects its students
through the test applied by this question-
naire. Unless new writers are trained
there will be no scenarios for us to sell, nor
plays for the studios to produce.

In the three years ol i'< existence the Palmer
Corporation has trained hundreds of scenario
writers and sold scores of their photoplays. You
have sat spellbound in your theatre and witnessed
the work of Palmer students, which was written in
farm homes, city Hats, and mining camps.

And tlic same studios that produced and paid fur
those pictures have rejected scenarios submitted by
novelists and magazine writers whose names are
known wherever the language is spoken.

The acquired art of fine writing cannot be trans-
ferred to the screen. But the native gifts, creative
imagination and dramatic instinct — which means
vivid story telling — are the life and the soul of the

motion picture industry. Trained to express them-
selves in the language of the screen, these gifts are
priceless to their possessor.

The questionnaire is our guide

to the talent we seek. It was prepared by Prof.

Advisory Council

Thomas H. Ince

Thomas II. Ince Studios

Cecil B. DeMille

Director General

Famous Players-Lasky Corp.

Jesse L. Lasky

Vice President

Famous Players-Lasky Corp.

Lois Weber

Lois Weber Productions, Int.

Frank E. Woods

Chief Supervising Director

Famous Players-Lasky Corp.

C Gardner Si llivan

Author and Producer

Allan Dwan

Allan Dwan Productions

Rob Wagner

Author and Screen Authority

James R. Qtihk

Editor and Publisher

Photoplay Magazine

Malcolm McLean, former instructor of short-story
writing in Northwestern University, and Mr. H. H.
Van Loan, the celebrated photoplaywright. It is a
simple test which you may apply to yourself, to
determine whether you have the essentials to success-
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sight. Before undertaking to train applicants in the
new art of photoplay writing, we measure their
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It is a simple test which you can apply to yourself
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You are invited to apply our test to
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We will gladly send you the Palmer questionnaire
upon request. Answer, to the best of your ability,
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the record reveals to us.

The Palmer Photoplay Corporation cannot endow
you nor any other person with creative imagination;
it cannot impart dramatic insight. But if you have
a natural inclination toward these essential elements
of photoplay writing, it can be discovered through the
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your talent can be trained in the technique of scenario
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You may find in yourself possibilities of achieve-
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you send the coupon below and apply this fascinat-
ing test to yourself?

PALMER PHOTOPLAY Corporation, Dep't of Education, Ph. 9

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Please send me. without cost
or obligation on my part, your
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Every advertisement in rHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

CLARA, Alabama.— Well, I'll tell you
why l don't make more wages. I
said to the Ed. the other day, I
-aid, "I think I ought to earn more
money.'' And he came right back at me
with: "Sodol. Why don't you?" So you

see . Edith Roberts has left Universal

and has not yet announced her future plans.
(I begin to sound just like a press-agent. )
Helene Chadwick, Molly .Malone, Lefty
Flynn and Mary Alden, Goldwyn. Eugene
O'Brien, Martha Mansfield and Winifred
Westover, Selznick.

J. E. Z., Minnesota. — Samuel Butler's
advice to young writers was to carry a note
book about with them into which they
could transcribe their every thought. I
imagine that if you tried anything like this,
you would lose the note book. Enid Ben-
nett has retired from films temporarily
to await an interesting family event. She
is Mrs. Fred Niblo in private life. Dorothy
Gish is now playing the younger of "The
Two Orphans" under D. W. Griffith's
direction at his studio in Mamaroneck.
Lillian is playing the other sister. Dorothy
is married to James Rennie. Priscilla
Dean, Universal City, Cal.

Mrs. E. M. B., Vulcan, Alberta,
Canada. — Ruth Clifford made a picture
called "Tropical Love" in Porto Rico this
spring. This is her latest film to date. I
think I will nickname you "Echo," for
you always manage to have the last word.

Danna La Rue, Aberdeen, Wash. —
"The wonderful" Wallace has latelv appear-
ed in "The Affairs of Anatol," "The Hell
Diggers" i pretty little title) and "Peter
Ibbetson." You will think that Wally
wears a wig as Peter, but I assure you, he
does not. He simply had to have his
hair marcelled for every scene. What
torture for a strong man! Georges Car-
pentier made one picture, "The Wonder
Man" for Robertson-Cole release.

Mac's Master. — Thank you very much
for the snaps of your Scotch terrier. You
should put him in the movies. You say
he hates to have his photograph taken and
generally runs away. He has nothing on
me. Wallace Reid was born in 1890 and
has been on the screen since 1909.

Bonnie. — You write very well but you
write too much. Here's the cast of
"The Love Expert": Babs, Constance
Talmadge; Mr. Hardcastle, Arnold Lucy:
Jim Winthrop, John Holliday; Dorcas
Winthrop, Natalie Talmadge; Matilda Win-
throp, Fanny Bourne; Aunt Cornelia, Mrs.
Spaulding; Aunt Emily, Marion Sitgreave;
Mr. Smithers, David Kirkland.

Mi>s Norma C, Auckland, New Zea-
land.— Certainly I can spare the time for a
little Australian pal far away — far away.
A lot of people seem to notice Jack Mul-
hall's resemblance to Eugene O'Brien
except Jack and Gene. Gene hasn't Jack's
quizzical eyebrows and Jack has never
tried to imitate Mr. O'Brien's crooked
smile. Mulhall's latest appearance is op-

Famous Rumors

THAT William S. Hart has retired.
That Theda Bara is dead.
That Eugene O Brien is married.
That Charlie Chaplin is going to play
"Hamlet. "

That Zeena Keefe is going to star
for SelznicK.

That Lady Diana Manners is mak-
ing a picture.

That Mrs. Lydig Hoyt is making a
picture.

posite Mabel Normand in Mack Sennett's
"Molly-O. " Albert Roscoe is married.
His disposition? Well, he is a Southern
gentleman.

E. N. Turner. — You will never dance at
my wedding. Ward Crane was born in
Albany, N. Y. He is about 27 and has been
in films since 1918. He is not married and
at present is playing opposite Irene Castle.

Helen B., Chattanooga, Tenn. — Wan-
da Hawley may have been in Florida in
November, 1920, but she did not bring her
two small children with her. The truth of
the matter is that Wanda has no children.

Thelma, Jersey City. — I am not your
dearest friend. However, we'll let that
pass. Shirley Mason is just 5 feet tall and
weighs 95 lbs. and she has reached the
amazing age of 21. She is Mrs. Bernard
Durning. William Scott played Billy in
"While the Devil Laughs" which is not
one of those censor-proof titles. Of course,
I think Shirley Mason a dear. (I hope
her husband doesn't read this.)

Grace M. Mi., Brooklyn, N. Y. —
Jack Mulhall in "Should a Woman Tell?"
(How can she help it?) Bill Hart is not
married but there is a rumor that he is
engaged to Jane Novak. Rumors aren't
always right, but I believe this one is an
exception. "The Miracle Man" was a
great picture. The screen lost one of its
finest directors when death claimed George
Loane Tucker. He was married to Eliza-
beth Risdon, who scored a personal success
last season in the Theater Guild's legitimate
production of George Bernard Shaw's
"Heartbreak House."

Miss Ethel F., Wayne, Nebr. — Your
letter is strictly original. You write in
readable long hand and you do not use baby
blue stationery and no one has ever told
you that you look like Mary Pickford.
So you have six autographed pictures of
Mrs. Fairbanks, and seventy-two of every-
body else. Remarkable collection! You
say Grace Cunard and Francis Ford never
sent you their photographs. I will look into
it right away.

Mary Pickford Forever, Washington,
Del. — Wanda Hawley made the screen
version of "Peg o' My Heart" for Para-
mount, but J. Hartley Manners, the play-
wright, has involved it in litigation and
it may never be released, which is un-
fortunate. Wanda is wonderful as the first
affair in "The Affairs of Anatol." She
deserves better stories.

Sweetie. — My new stenographer — whose
hair is of a most uncertain shade — I really
don't know what to call it but will let you
know after her next visit to the hairdresser's
— will surely not approve of your nom de
plume, and I must ask you not to use it
again. My new stenographer is very par-

ticular. Crauford Kent was the leading
man in "Other Men's Shoes."

Miss J. W., Bemedji, Minn. — I thought
I knew every town in the country, but that
is a new one. Marjorie Daw's real name
is Marguerite House. Her mother and
father are dead. She lives with her
younger brother, Chandler, in Holly-
wood. I admit that I was presump-
tuous if I said — all in one paragraph —
that I never told lies and that I am 80.
One is true.

E. F., Wise. — You ask me not to be
surprised if some day I see your name
in electric lights. It takes a lot to
surprise me. Vincent Coleman is 6 feet
tall. He admits that, but he declines
to give his age. Bashful Vincent!
Constance Talmadge was born in 1899
and she stands 5 feet 6 inches tall
in her ba — beg your pardon, Con-
stance— I mean heelless slippers.
Jack Pickford has been directing his
sister Mary in "Little Lord Fauntle-
roy," but he is to return to the screen at
the head of his own company in "The
Tailor-Made Man," the comedy in
which Grant Mitchell appeared on the
stage. The Hal Roach studio is at
Culver City, Cal.

Cathleen O., Chicago. — Now that
Natalie is Mrs. Buster Keaton and
not appearing in pictures any more,
we might as well admit that she is
older than Constance. Norma is the
oldest of the three. Alice Brady who
is Mrs. James Crane in private life,
haa' no children. Constance Binney
is not married.

S. S., Va. — Dorothy Green is not
making any pictures right now, but I
saw her on the street the other day and
I know she is still in New York. She
had the title role in "The Good Bad
Wife." I believe she is married.

Lois L. P., Scio, Ore. — You win
the plate glass shock absorber. Maude
Wayne, not Anna Q. Nilsson, was the
blonde in "Behold My Wife." Elmo
Lincoln, instead of Hobart Bosworth
in "Under Crimson Skies." Anna
Querentia did appear, however, in
"The Fighting Chance," as Sylvia.

Joy K. — Jean Paige is now play-
ing in "The Prodigal Judge" at the
Vitagraph studio in Brooklyn. Jean
is married to Mrs. Albert E. Smith,
who is president of Vitagraph. Douglas
McLean, Ince Studios, Culver City,
Cal. Betty Compson is not married.
Address her, Lois Wilson and Lila, care
of Lasky Studios, Hollywood.

Mannie E. N., Wash.— Milton Sills
in "Satan Jr." Guy Coombs in
"Flower of the Dusk." Both Viola
Dana pictures. Buck Jones is 32.
June Caprice's first pictures were
"Caprice of the Mountains," "Little
Miss Happiness" and "The Ragged
Princess." Harry Millarde was lead-
ing man in all of these. This is the
same Millarde who later directed
"Over the Hill" for Fox. It has been
reported that June and Harry are
engaged. Will let you know when I do.

D. B., Chicago. — Edith Johnson is
Mrs. Wm. Duncan. She is now appear-
ing with her husband in a Vitagraph
feature called "When Men are Men,"
one of those virile titles. Agnes Ayres
is now a Paramount star. Her first
stellar vehicle is "Take it or Leave It."

Questions and Answers

(Continued)

Doris H., Emmons, Minn.— If Jackie
Coogan is not spoiled by all the adulation
he has been getting, he will be a great man.
"Peck's Bad Boy" was not as good as
"The Kid." And then some people said
that Jackie would be just as good without

The Studio Villain

WE'LL sing you a song of the
Studio Villain.
He was a hard-working man.
In one day at the studio he killed one
man, poisoned another, knocked out a
third. He was so hard on the furni-
ture the studio manager had to send out
to Grand Rapids for a new set every
time the Villain worked. He was the
best fighter on the screen; he could
muss up the hero any old time if the
director would only let him.

Then came the time to take the Big
Fight Scene. It was that Fight, you
remember, that was advertised as
"the most stupendous, breath-taking
and virile struggle in the history of
motion pictures." Yes — that one.
And the villain was to be worsted by
the hero. And the Press-Agent, who
called himself the Director of Pub-
licity when he left the studio, saw a
story in it.

You remember that black eye the
villain had? It showed in the close-
up; everybody remarked about it.
"Wonderful make-up that actor has,"
they observed, "do you suppose the
fight was really as bad as that?"

So the Press-Agent spun this little
yarn: "The well-known heavy, Fagin
O'Flaherty, is not a villain in real life.
You will notice a black eye in his new
picture. He got that black eye de-
fending an old woman whom some
crooks knocked down and attempted
to rob of her hard-earned pittance.
O'Flaherty, motoring home from the
studio, jumped out of his car, felled
the fellows, and took the old lady
home — but not before he had sustained
a real black eye in the struggle. The
old woman, with tears in her eyes,
begged Mr. O'Flaherty to send her an
autographed photograph of himself."

Mrs. O'Flaherty laughed when she
read it. She remembered so well that
night before the fight scene was shot,
when O'Flaherty came home at three
minutes past three, and she met him
at the head of the stairs.

Charlie Chaplin. Bebe Daniels is not
engaged to Harold Lloyd. They used to
play together, that's all. Alma Tell in
Paramount's "Paying the Piper." Cleo
Ridgely has two children, a boy and a girl —
twins.

Vera. — You wish to know if Mae
Murray answers her own telephone.
It depends upon who is at the other end
of the line, Eva Novak is no longer
a Universal star. To take her place
and that of Edith Roberts, who has also
left that company, U signed Marie
Prevost, the celebrated bathing girl,
and Missdu Pont, by which name they
are releasing Margaret Armstrong.
Don't ask me why they changed her
name. Eva Novak is now with Fox.

Olive Naomi E., Savannah, Ga. —
Lillian Gish does not make as many
pictures as other stars, but as she
appears in the Griffith features, you
usually see more of her at one time
than you do of others, including even
Phyllis Haver. Lillian is not married.

Mary White, Brookville, Pa. —
Why did Natalie Talmadge marry
Buster Keaton? Well, I suppose she
kind of liked him. It has been ru-
mored that Buster Keaton smiled for
the first time when Natalie said "yes."
They are now living in Hollywood and
Buster is making new comedies for
First National. Joseph Schenck, who is
Norma Talmadge's husband, is Kea-
ton's manager, so all the talent is now
in one family.

Elsie G. A., Pontiac, III. — Rex
Ingram's first picture since "The Four
Horsemen of the Apocalypse" is "The
Conquering Power," an adaptation of
Balzac's "Eugenie Grandet," in
which Rudolph Valentino and Alice
Terry again appear. There has been
no stage version of Ibanez' "Four
Horsemen," but Otis Skinner is soon
to do a dramatization of the Spaniard's
"Blood and Sand."

Polly and Dolly. — So you
neglected your French lessons to write
to me. Don't you like to study
French? Thanks very much for the
handsome handkerchief. That is
tatting around the edge, isn't it? I
should like to take up tatting. Are
there correspondence schools that
teach it? Please let me know.

Miriam S., British Columbia. — Oh
yes, Busted Buds — I beg your pardon,
I mean "Broken Blossoms" — was very
sad, indeed. I wept a regular river of
tears, and had to swim up the aisle.
Dick Barthelmess was the Chinaman.
Dick is now making "Tol'able David"
for First National — a story by Joseph
Hergesheimer. Miriam McDonald is a
sister of Katherine MacDonald and
Mary MacLaren. She is married and
has never been seen on the screen.
Neither Katherine nor Mary is mar-
ried. Charles Ray's first picture under
his own direction was "Scrap Iron."
Some people have said that Charlie has
too many irons in the fire, but I thought
it was a pretty good picture, myself.

Mrs. Wm. F. E., Oregon.— Short and
sweet, sweeter than short. Robert
Edeson in "Extravagance." George
McDaniels and Jimsy May in "Two
Kinds of Love."

(Continued on page 116)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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When sou write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Inlays and Jp/qyers

Real

news and in.

The annual birthday party of Bill Reid is the social event of the season among
Hollywood s younger set. (Now that he is four years old. Bill will be known
as William Wallace.) His guests: NIary Joanna, daughter of William and Mary
Desmond, on the cushion ; holding her is Julie Cruze. with her arm around Bill s
neck. At the young host s left is Elaine St. Johns, daughter of Adela Rogers
St. Johns of PHOTOPLAY. That's Bob White Beban with the club and King
Baggot Jr. behind him; while second from the extreme right of the top row

is Sonny Washburn.

THE banquet of Nero on the night
he burned Rome —
Cleopatra entertaining Caesar on
the Nile-
Marie Antoinette in the Tuileries —
The night's pageant given for the benefit
of the Actors' Fund at the Los Angeles
Speedway last month included tableaux
presenting "The Eternal Feminine," "The
Adornment of Woman " and "The Awaken-
ing of Romance," and was a spectacle of
exquisite beauty and unexcelled magnifi-
cence.

Given under enormous difficulties, in
the open air without any proper facilities
for dressing, lighting, or stage management,
the sheer interest and effort of the hundreds
of stars and motion picture artists carried
the thing through with superb poise and
smoothness.

The tragedy of the evening lay in the
fact that, owing to the size of the speedway
and the distance of the platform from the
grandstand, the audience could not see
all the details of the costumes.

All the beautiful women of the screen
were there, representing something or
other. There isn't any use wasting time
describing the costumes, because it was
just a matter of how many beads there
were. You know — some had two or three
beads, some had whole strings of beads,
and other had, as it were, A bead.

The stars furnished their own costumes,
and thousands of dollars were invested in
them.

May Allison was Venus in a costume that
seemed to me the most beautiful of the
evening. Venus rising from the sea — a
sea composed of pale green chiffon, silver
lace and large pearl drops. If Venus

looked like that it's small wonder she upset
domestic conditions around Olympus.

The popular sensation of the evening
was .Mary Pickford as little Lord Faunt-
leroy.- Stars come and stars go, but if
that evening and that crowd was a standard,
Mary Pickford continues to be "America's
Sweetheart." When she came down to
the enormous footlights, in the Fauntleroy
suit of gray velvet and old lace, her curls
hanging to her waist and her little hand
resting on the neck of a big collie dog, the
50,000 people present rose en masse and
cheered and whistled and roared until
you could hear them in Los Angeles.

Mary Thurman was Salome. I've heard
somewhere of Salome and her seven veils.
Mary left many of them at home — but
it was in a worthy cause.

Douglas Fairbanks and his company
wore the costumes in which they are
making the "Three Musketeers" and
presented a most elaborate picture, while
Cecil deMille reproduced a scene from the
Siamese settings of his latest picture.

Pauline Frederick was "Luxury," and she
was, sumptuous and elegant as a Charles II
Duchess, and I didn't see anything more
beautiful all evening than Ethel Clayton,
as "The Spirit of Fashion." Paquin
dreamed her, I'm sure. She couldn't
have been real and been so perfect. And
speaking of dreams, Dorothy Davenport
(Mrs. Wallace Reid) was "A Dream of the
East." She complained herself that "they
forgot to send any of my costume except
the train." But nobody else complained.

Gloria Swanson, billed as "Woman's
Fairest Dream — The Pearl," wore one —
and art could have created nothing more
perfect, while in the afternoon I saw her

teresting comment
about motion pic-
tures and motion
picture people.

By
CAL. YORK

on the grounds in a severe tailored outfit
of gray silk. I don't know really which
way Gloria looks best.

Phyllis Haver was " Dash." She should
have been. The spirit of Paris — the
Artists' Ball.

Naturally an affair of that kind will
never again seem complete without Betty
Blythe — and though Rosemary Theby
did her best to present the Queen of Sheba
and wore one of Betty's own costumes,
it was a hard job to tackle.

Unless we got out a special edition of the
Magazine, I couldn't possibly tell you just
what everyone did and had on — or off.
But some who scintillated gorgeously were
Mildred Harris, Bebe Daniels, Ann Forrest,
Lila Lee, Betty Compson — I really think
she was the most beautiful woman there —
Florence Yidor, May McAvoy, Wanda
Hawley, Mabel Normand, Mary Alden,
Dorothy Phillips, Alice Terry, Grace Dar-
mond, Shirley Mason, Priscilla Dean,
Margaret Loomis, Majorie Daw, and lovely
Rubye de Remer as Circe, quite as alluring
and dangerous as that ancient lady is
reputed to have been — Elinor Glyn in a
Paris creation of cloth of silver, leading
the procession, Kathleen Clifford, Ruth
Roland, Edith Storey, Rita Weiman, in a
violent creation of red, scarlet, crimson
and black, Irene Rich, Kathlyn VYilliams — ■
oh, I could go on endlessly.

The afternoon was equally — if not
more — thrilling.

One could see a great deal better and it
was fun to wander about and actually see
everyone and what they were doing.

The whole enclosure of the track was
filled with attractions enough to satisfy
P. T. Barnum. It was an effort to keep
up with them.

Tony Moreno, in his trick racing car
which is about the size of a kid's toy auto-
mobile, challenged all comers to race him
around the famous course, and after
winning several heats donated the car to
be auctioned off for the cause.

There was a wild west Rodeo — and a
chariot race which I liked best of anything
— all under the supervision of Tom Mix,
who was working harder than any motion
picture star ever worked before. He had
Will Rogers roping goats, Doug Fairbanks
doing trick riding — and Doug has lost none
of his cunning, while Tony Moreno, Bill
Desmond, Dust Farnum, Buck Jones,
Harry Carey, Hoot Gibson and Jack Holt
kept things so darn lively it was worse
than a three ring circus to watc'i.

Charlie Murray had a '49 camp — it
made one's heart ache to think things were
like that such a little, little while ago.
Colleen Moore was there serving drinks
and adding a lot to the general gaiety.
(Continued on page 78)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The two secrets of a youthful
looking skin

Every normal skin needs two creams. FOR
DAYTIME use a dry cream to protect the
skin and hold the powder— AT NIGHT, a
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When you powder, do it to last. Here
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This cream has not a drop of oil in

In the daytime,
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Furthermore, this protective cream,
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At night, thecleansing, nourishing
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When you write to advertisers please mention THOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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105 First Street, San Francisco

Enclosed find 20c for which please send me
sample bottle of Rieger's Flower Drops in the
odor which 1 have checked.

[] Lily of the Valley [] Rose [] Violet

[] Romanza [] Lilac [1 Crabapple

Name

Addn;

L] Souvenir Box — fi.oo enclosed.

£] # enclosed

Remember, if not pleased your money will be relumed.

Plays and Players

(Continued from page 76)

The Careys : Harry Jr. and Harry Sr. The new boss of the H. C. Ranch lr

California faced the camera for the first time at the age of eight days. If he

keeps it up he II soon break the record for close-ups.

Daniel Frohman — under whose auspices
the huge benefit was given — conducted a
little theater, where impromptu sketches
of two or three minute's length were given.
May Allison served as assistant director,
co-author, property boy and stagehand.
Some of the stars — corralled on the grounds
— who took part were Richard Bennett,
Gloria Swanson, May Allison, Lois Wilson,
Jack Holt, Viola Dana, Bert Lytell, Herbert
Rawlinson, William Russell, Rubye de
Remer, Conrad Nagei, Winter Hall and
Pauline Frederick.

Most fascinating little houses were
erected to hold some of the attractions —
Mrs. Rupert Hughes presided over an old
English mansion, where famous authors
sold their own autographed books. Such
celebrities as Sir Gilbert Parker, Rupert
Hughes, Gouverneur Morris, Eugene Man-
love Rhodes, Upton Sinclair, Rita Weiman,
and Elinor Glyn were there.

Madame Glyn also had a gaudy tent
where — in a thrilling and bewildering
costume of blues and greens and beads she
gave psychic demonstrations at enormous
prices.

Mrs. William deMille and Mrs. Jesse L.
Lasky had an art shop and there were
harems, prize fights, vaudeville shows, ice
cream and hot dogs to excess. Every place
you turned a pretty girl wanted to sell you
something and generally succeeded — Ann
Forrest was selling cigarettes which she
lighted for you at so much per light —

Oh, it was a gay life.

The largest sum of money ever raised for
the Fund was taken in during the day.

ALICE JOYCE is taking a two months'
vacation.

This in itself is not interesting.

But the fact that Alice Joyce is awaiting
an important event as Mrs. James Regan
is.

She finished her current picture at Yita-
graph in Brooklyn before leaving the studio
on a leave of absence. She says she's very
happy — and we have no doubt her nice
Irish husband is happy too; and that little
Alice Joyce Moore is tickled to death at
the prcspect of having a new little sister —
or brother, as' the case may be — to play
with.

The Joyce- Vitagraph contract has
another year to run, after which it would
not surprise anybody to see Alice retire
permanently from the screen. She has
threatened to, and much as it would grieve
us to have her go, we know she has a very
promising career as a smart young Man-
hattan matron.

IN spite of the fact that Madame Elinor
Glyn, with her emeralds and her tem-
perament and her tiger-skins, has given
irreverent Hollywood a lot of laughs at one
time or another — in spite of this, the fact
remains that Elinor is actually the only one
of the many famous authors corralled in the
western studios to write "originals" for
the screen stars, who has really delivered
in any degree proportionate with her salary
and her reputation.

DURING the month of June — a swelter-
ing month for Manhattan— that fair
city saw such film celebrities as Tom Mix
and Sessue Hayakawa.

Mr. Mix, although nobody has ever been
heard to call him that — brought with him

Every advertisement in rnOTOTLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)

his young wife and his mother-in-law. His
wife is Victoria Forde; his mother-in-law
is Eugenie Forde. Victoria is a vivacious
little blonde who wears six or seven diamond
and emerald and sapphire bracelets on each
arm, besides many elaborate and expensive
rings — all gifts from her husband. In
spite of the fact that Tom wears a white
sombrero and a violently checked suit
on the streets of New York, he has made a
very good impression.

THE latest J. Barrymore news:
John was to go abroad for the sum-
mer and then he didn't.

The Barrymore play, "Clair de Lune,"
which was produced, according to a news-
paper wit, ''for the love of Mike" (meaning-
Michael Strange, who wrote it and who is
in private life Blanche Barrymore) wore
itself out in its eight weeks' run and will
probably never be revived again. John
is not doing anything at present. Ethel
Barrymore, to quote another writer, has
"returned to the speaking stage in 'The
Twelve-Pound Look'."

TIME rolls on and Alia Xazimovu has
not signed with anybody.

recording to the latest reports, Madame
will return to the stage.

The film magnates seem not to be so
gullible as they once were.

Many leading men who not so long ago
drew one thousand a week for making love
to lovely celluloid ladies, are now attempt-
ing to keep the home fires burning on a
meagre four hundred or five.

Such former stars as Dorothy Dalton
and Mildred Harris are now doing leading
business. Miss Dalton probably could
force Paramount to continue starring her
individually if she cared to, as her contract
specifies such an arrangement. She is a
member of Cecil deMille's latest all-star
cast.

TAMES KIRKWOOD is to be made a
*J star by Paramount.

Our principal comment on that is: why
wasn't he made a star long ago?

THE biggest party of the movie social
season was that with which Mabel
Normand entertained at the Ambassador
Hotel when the new Cocoanut Grove was
opened there this month.

Miss Normand, who lives in apartments,
declared she wanted to repay all the people
with homes who had been so nice to her,
and she invited fifty guests to an elaborate
dinner party, and dancing in the Grove
afterwards.

Everybody was there really, — I saw Mr.
and Mrs. Mahlon Hamilton, the latter in
a cerise gauze that set off her dark beauty,
Edna Purviance, in white, Jack Pickford
and beautiful Rubye de Remer — who by
the way is putting on some weight that is
very becoming to her, in the southern
California sunshine — Roscoe Arbuckle,
Bebe Daniels, Jim Kirk wood, Viola Dana
in a soft lavender creation — and hosts of
others.

Mabel herself was as brilliant as a butter-
fly— and, by the way, she tells me she's so
healthy she's reducing!

HE official cost of von Stroheim's " Blind
Wives" has been given out as SI, 040, 500.

It ought to be a mighty good picture.

But is it?

BETTY BLYTHE bobbed her hair.
Oh, Irene Castle, what crimes are
committed in thy name!

The Quaker

waits at every door

Many housewives get oat flakes without the Quaker Oats
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The oat is the greatest food that grows. It is almost the
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-Advertising Section

Plays and Players

Underwood & Underwood

to New
acquired the

When Justine Johnstone "ran over for the week-end" from London
York, just to see the Dempsey-Carpentier fight, she said she'd
British briar habit, and proved it by smoking a little jewelled pipe! She i
she saw hundreds of Englishwomen smoking their briars at the polo matches.
What? Well — some of our great-grandmothers did it — only they used corn-cobs.

WILL ROGERS, upon the completion of
his Goldwyn contract, will become an
independent producer.

Unlike other stars who go in for this " own
company" stuff, the cowboy comedian will
modestly make two-reel features, instead of

Every advertisement in ITJOTOFLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed

six-reel super-spectacles. "About all the
pictures I have ever seen could be told in
two reels, anyway," says Will. "And the
only fellow who can beat me with my two-
reelers, is the man who will come along and
tell 'em in one reel."

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)

UNIVERSAL announce- a new star.
Her name, according to the press-
sheets, i> " Miss du Pont."

Her name, really, is Margaret Arm-
strong. According to her press agent, she
never appeared on the screen until Eric
von Stroheim discovered her and gave
her the leading feminine role in his "Foolish
Wives."

Actually, Miss Armstrong made her film
debut as one of the models in "Lombard!,
Ltd."

CABIRIA," the fir^t great film spectacle,
has been revived in New York City,
at the Strand Theater. This is the produc-
tion by Gabriele d'Annunzio, which was
the forerunner of "The Birth of a Nation"
and the later great American dramas.
"Cabiria" is a product of the Itala Film
Company of Turin, and was completed in
1014.

Maeiste, the giant actor who played the
slave, appeared in conjunction with the
film.

"The Birth of a Nation" was revived
at the Capitol Theater some time ago.

IT is rather interesting to note the only
two well-known motion picture stars
who refused to aid Mr. Daniel Frohman
in putting on the Actor's Fund Fair.

Nazimova and Katherine MacDonald.

.Miss MacDonald has made it a system-
atic practice not to take part in things of
that sort nor to appear for charity — it
being her theory that she cannot afford
the time and energy necessary for those
things.

Nazimova, in spite of pressing requests
from her fellow stars, flatly refused, though
she was only asked to wear a striking cos-
tume and walk across the stage, thus
lending her name and presence to aid in
selling tickets.

Back of this is a story that will bear
telling — and which was repeated by Mr.
Frohman himself to one of the stars whom
he sent as emissary to Madame Nazimova.

Not so many years ago, a small troop of
Russian actors were performing in their
own tongue in a barn theater on the east
side of New York. The winter was cold,
and bad, and the little group of foreigners
was very much up against it. They didn't
have enough to eat. One of their number
approached Mr. Frohman, then an active
producer in New York, and said, "We
believe we have a great artist in our com-
pany— Alia Nazimova. We should like
to give her a chance. If we could weather
the winter, we could begin in the spring
in English and we might succeed."

Mr. Frohman engineered a benefit
matinee, to which many stars contributed,
and raised SS3,000. This sum was turned
over to the Russians, who lived on it
through the winter and also arranged for
English lessons for their star.

In the spring, Nazimova was able to
appear in English — and her way to success
was definitely opened — the success which
today gives her such a stupendous salary.

No wonder Mr. Frohman was astonished
with a great astonishment when Alia
Nazimova refused to lend her aid to the
Actors' Fund lair benefit.

ONE of the funniest sights in Hollywood
these days is Bill Hart in his office.
Since he stopped making pictures, Bill has
taken a suite of handsome offices on the
Boulevard, and with a couple of secretaries
and stenographers is transacting a lot of
business connected with his films and his
property.

In the meantime it is understood that

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Do you know the refreshment
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Burn incense, but be sure
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Whichever you prefer, you can get
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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

MmJSt*'

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COURSE IN
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You Want to Earn
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And you will not be satisfied unless
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Plays and Players

{Continued)

Photograph by Alfred Chpney Johnston

K.athryn Perry is now Mrs. Owen Moore. They were married in Greenwich,
Conn., July 16. The romance began when the former Ziegfeld Follies and Frolic
beauty decided to become a silversheet luminary and was cast in pictures oppo-
site Owen Moore. Little Kathryn is keeping up her reputation for charm and
pulchritude on the screen. Owen Moore was the first husband of Mary Pick-
ford and also her leading man in Olograph, Imp, and Famous Players films.

his sister, Miss Mary Hart, is in the east
accompanying Miss Jane Novak on a
shopping tour.

It seems only human to wonder if they
are trousseau buying, since the engagement
of Hill Hart and Miss Novak has been
repeatedly rumored.

BETTY BLYTHE found the hotels in
a very crowded condition when she
came to New York, so she finally put up at
one of Fifth Avenue's iciest palaces for
paying guests. She was, no doubt, the
first actress who had ever lived there.

When Betty had taken up her abode in
the hotel she surprised the various attaches
with her modest and untheatrical demeanor.
But still they were skeptical; still suspicious.
A few weeks later Paul Scardon, who is
Sheba's husban :' in private life, came to
New York to see his wife. One day Betty
called the hotel and asked for Air. Scardon.
"There isn't any Mr. Scardon stopping
here," said the goddess of the switchboard.
"There is," answered Betty gently but
firmly, and I wish to speak to him."

"Oh," said the switchboard deity in
tones of enlightenment, "oh, you mean the
gentleman that's in with Miss Blythe!"

SOMEBODY evidently was trying to kid
Douglas Fairbanks.
A report was circulated that he intended
to change the title of his new ten-reel feature
from "The Three Musketeers'" to "The
Three Guardsmen."

Doug denied heatedly that he was
addicted to the title-changing mania.

BESSIE BARRISCALE will return to
the so-called legitimate stage next
season.

She was exceedingly popular there before
she went into films.

A great many celluloiders are going back-
to their first loves.

Sort of looks as if the fillums were getting
back to what our President calls normalcy.
Not every actor from the legit, can come
to the screen nowadays and receive fabu-
lous sums for allowing his features to be
photographed. {Continued on pa^e 89)

Erary advertisemcnl in riTOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Shadow Stage

(Continued from page 50)

BEHIND MASKS— Paramount

DESPITE the fact that Dorothy Dalton
neither looks nor acts like an oppressed
ingenue, as she really should, in E. Phillips
Oppenheim's "Jeanne of the Marshes" we
found this good entertainment. There is in-
trigue, suspense and a hero incognito, but
the story is quite plausible and the English
atmosphere well maintained. A departure
from Miss Dalton's usual portrayals, and
quite an acceptable one.

SCRAP IRON— First National

A GOOD picture. If Charles Ray really
directed "Scrap Iron," we are prepared
to say the same Charles Ray has been direct-
ing his own pictures for a considerable spell
and doing very well with them. The new
picture emphasizes all the Ray virtues, tells
of the adventures of the same innately de-
cent hero and pictures him as being ruled by
the same trite but true sentiment that in-
spires a good boy's devotion to an invalid
mother.

LIVE WIRES— Fox

THE old farm has ever been a more or less
pathetic subject. There's always a
mortgage or something, to cause tears to
flow. Here it is an option which the city
villain secures from trusting mother, thus
causing Son some exciting experiences. The
vehicle serves to introduce Edna Murphy
and Johnny Walker as Fox co-stars, just
why, we cannot say.

THE BRONZE BELL—
Ince'Paramount

HAND in hand with Mr. Fox comes Mr.
Ince, presenting us with five reels of
hectic serial stuff, under the guise of a fea-
ture photoplay. Louis Joseph Vance, who
wrote the story, wishes us to believe, appar-
ently, that anything can happen in India, in-
troducing astral bells, a lady in distress, a
dethroned prince and his double, a red-
blooded American. Courtenay Foote, in
this dual role, seems rather conscious of his
turban. John Davidson is the villain extraor-
dinary and Doris May the lady. Who will
be next?

THE BEAUTIFUL GAMBLER—
Universal

HERE we have a sweet, trusting little
girl who marries the wicked owner of a
saloon and dance hall, in order to pay off the
mortgage on daddy's log cabin. She might
have known what would happen. Surely
everyone who has attended the movies for
the last ten years does. Really there is no
excuse for this except Grace Darmond, who
photographs nicely.

ONE A MINUTE— Paramount

THE hero of this tale, Douglas MacLean
in the role, holds Abraham Lincoln as
his ideal, and then proceeds to enrich him-
self by a patent medicine fraud, working on
the theory that "There's a fool born every
minute." Farce though it is, and to be con-
sidered as such, one finds it difficult to con-
done the entire lack of principle on which
this story is founded. It is not up to the
MacLean standard.

HOME STUFF— Metro

ANOTHER down-on-the-farm story, Viola
Dana, the stranded chorus girl who finds
happiness among the cows and chickens.
Her personality saves the well-worn plot
from seeming extremely trite, other mem-

Posed by May Alliion, a Metro motion picture Mar, and enthusiastic mo
torist. Miss Allison is one of many beautiful women 'in pictures" who
use and endorse Ingram's Milkweed Cream for proper care of the complexion

Do hot sun and dusty wind play havoc
with your complexion?

Can you enjoy motoring without fear
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AN hour's drive in the afternoon sun
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Ingram's Rouge — "Just to show a proper
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CLEAR YOUR
COMPLEXION

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Shadow Stage

WITH

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bers of the cast lending able support.
There's some really good comedy, some in-
excusable melodrama and an abundance of
"home stuff" for those who like it. By
Frank Dazey and Agnes Johnston.

CHILDREN OF NIGHT— Fox

THIS is a photoplay for serial followers.
It contains a great deal of the stuff of
which serials are made, and not much ot
anything else. William Russell is the hero
thereof, going through a variety of highly-
colored adventures for sake of the lady fair.
There are the usual trap-doors, secret crim-
inal societies, villains and victims.

THE FIGHTING LOVER— Universal

THAT good old plot, in which the hero
wagers his friend to select him a wife
from the multitude, willy nilly, is here pre-
sented with a few original twists that make
of it interesting photoplay material. It is
up to the usual Frank Mayo standard, and
will please his admirers. From the Ben
Ames Williams story. "Three in a Thous-
and."

NOBODY— Roland West First-Natl

AN actress of dramatic ability might have
made this one of the big photodramas of
the year. As it is, it stands well above the
ordinary release in plot and action. True,
it is not a children's story, nor one that will
entirely satisfy advocates of the happy end-
ing, but the melodrama is wisely lightened
at times, and few motion pictures have been
filmed with a more attractive back-ground
than Palm Beach furnishes for this one.
Jewel Carmen shows some improvement in
her work.

FINE FEATHERS— Metro

EUGENE WALTERS' "Fine Feathers"
comes to the screen with little lei t un-
changed except the title. Just why it was
thought advisable to depart so radically
from the original text of the play it is diffi-
cult to say. It contains, however, some very
good photoplay material, the well-worn
story is one that always arouses interest and
there is undeniably a melodramatic "punch"
at its conclusion. Outstanding is the work
of Eugene Pallette as the unfortunate hus-
band. Claire Whitney, June Elvidge and
W'arburton Gamble appear in important,
roles.

THE TWICE-BORN WOMAN—
Sonora

THAT part of the Bible which recounts
the life of the Christ, has been rewritten,
Mary of Magdala being introduced as the
real cause behind the crucifixion. Neither
Deyha Loti as the Magdalene, nor members
of her supporting cast show talent for screen
acting, their movements from scene to
scene being ever prefaced by explanatory
titles, necessary because of choppy con-
tinuity. It is an unsuccessful attempt to
film a sacred story without the vision and
inspiration necessary to such a production.
You'll find this tiresome.
i

THE BROKEN DOLL—

Associated Producers

MONTE BLUE is developing into an ac-
tor of unusual promise, and in this
adaptation of Wilbur Hall's "Johnny
Cucabod" he does some of his finest work.
There is comedy and pathos, an exciting
! chase for an escaped convict and a quaint
love story, with Mary Thurman as the lady
in the case. Every member of the family

can see and enjoy this photoplay. The
same can be said of almost every production
of the same director — Allan Dwan.

THE ROAD TO LONDON— Pathe

TAKE this title literally. There is much
scenery, Bryant Washburn, and a
sketchy suggestion of plot, this latter serving
merely to link together various views of
English countryside and London streets.
The picture is entirely void of interior set-
tings, making the production little more
than a scenic. However, as a scenic, it is
quite interesting.

AESOP'S FABLES— Pathe

A DEPARTURE from the usual run of
animated cartoons, this new Pathe ser-
ies presents up-to-date topics in an amusing
and entertaining form, combining the an-
cient Fables with modern logic. They are
cleverly executed by the cartoonist Paul
Terry.

TOO MUCH SPEED— Paramount

GIVE Wallace Reid Agnes Ayres for a
heroine, Theodore Roberts for an irate
father-in-law, a racing car, a speedway and
a South American contract to shoot at — and
you know the rest. It is usually an interest-
ing yarn, and though familiar, is given
enough new twists in this instance to keep it
from becoming hopelessly set. "Too Much
Speed" has a nice turn of sentiment near its
finish, when Wallace, about to win the race,
puts his mechanician in the driver's seat to
give him a chance to even an old score with
an unscrupulous rival. A good family pic-
ture.

A KISS IN TIME— Realart

IF they only knew it, the sort of entertain-
ment picture men turn out for hot wea-
ther is not hot weather entertainment at all.
Something to take their minds off the heat is
what people want in July in place of the
conventionally stupid comedy that rather
serves to intensify discomfort. However,
the tradition holds that hammock literature
serves a purpose — hence "A Kiss in Time,"
with T. Roy Barnes wagering some other
engaging fool that he can win a kiss from
Wanda Hawley within four hours after
meeting her.

A VOICE IN THE DARK— Goldwyn

THIS murder mystery story loses some-
thing of the novelty that contributed
to its success on the stage — where the cir-
cumstantial scenes a deaf woman saw were
acted in pantomime, and the incriminating
testimony a blind man overheard were
acted in' the dark. But fortunately the
story itself is interesting and sufficiently
plausible to make a good picture. The
storv of the murdered libertine, the falsely-
acciised heroine, the defending district
attorney and the endangered innocent is
worked into good screen fiction.

BE MY WIFE— Max Linder

THIS is farcical extravagance stretched
to the limit and guaranteed to produce
what the exhibitor knows as a "lotta laffs."
In this instance Linder, who is a good come-
dian, has provided himself with a story in
which he is forced to fight a comic duel
with himself to convince the heroine that
he is a worthy matrimonial candidate, and
finallv suffers the uproariously comic
adventure of having a white rat crawl up his
trousers' leg as he stands at the altar, to the
great joy of the assembled guests, both in
the picture and in the audience.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section
When Women Work

AMOTION" picture, "When Women
Work," has been prepared for the
Women's Bureau of the U. S. De-
partment of Labor.

The picture, which visualizes good and
bad working conditions for women, was
made in actual factories, during working
hours, with women and men moving about
their machines.

In order to carry the story through, two
moving picture actresses were engaged, but
the factory scenes in which they play were
staged all in the day's work of some New
Jersey or New York factory, and before they
sat at the machine they served as under-
study to the day-after-day girl holder of the
job.

Taking as points in the story the pro-
visions outlined in the brief and salient sum-
mary of "Standards," issued by the Wom-
en's Bureau during the war and happily
still serving as the standards of peace, the
movie makes its visual and vivid plea for
hours, wages, working conditions, vocational
training, lunch and rest rooms, equal pay
for equal work, equal opportunity for equal
work.

Women's clubs, the League of Women
Voters, the Business and Professional
Women's League, trade unions, clubs of
working girls, college women, high school
classes studying economics, and Chambers
of Commerce, Rotary Clubs, and other
men's organizations concerned in com-
munity affairs and recognizing women's
affairs as pr.rt of that community, would be
interested in the movie. It could be shown
to great advantage in connection with a
local campaign for bettering industrial con-
ditions.

The picture is in two reels and takes one-
half hour to show.

The film will be loaned free — express
charges not prepaid — by the Women's Bu-
reau.

Any organization, such as State Depart-
ments of Labor, or State Federations of
Clubs, wishing to use the picture through a
long period, can make arrangements through
the Women's Bureau to buy the film for the
approximate sum of S142.

In making the request for the movie,
please state the kind and probable size of
the audience, so that we can send appropri-
ate additional material.

Compulsory Immortality

GEORGES CLEMENCEAU, "Tiger of
France," has refused to have his voice
perpetuated on the phonograph, it is said.
But the Sorbonne, the great school of Paris,
is begging him to change his mind in the in-
terest of posterity. And the whole discus-
sion has led to another discussion and pro-
posal— a very remarkable proposal, viz.:
that a law be passed in France making it
compulsory for every significant national
character to send his voice down the ages,
and to stand for a space before the motion
picture camera, so that generations unborn
may see exactly what he looked like in ac-
tion and repose — how he walked, talked and
smiled; what were his expressions in mere
friendly conversation, and impassioned ad-
dress. One cannot doubt that, whether any
such law is ever really passed or not, of such
material will the pictorial histories of the
future be partially composed.

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Wlu-n you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

arms every time we saw a blue uniform up at
Lester. But we're not celling on Tier Three
now, old pal, and when a man's on the out-
side, the world's his ripe, red cherry. I'm
just on my way to eat. Come along, and
we'll throw a steak under our belts while we
chew over old times. How you makin' it?"

Jerry didn't recognize the ex-convict,
but, among thousands of prisoners at Lester
alike as peas, there was nothing strange in
that. Over a coffee-house table the stranger
proved himself so thoroughly familiar with
the prison, its inner life, and Jerry's career
there, that Jerry accepted his convict iden-
tity without question. The man paid for
the meal with a hun-
dred-dollar bill.

"Need any dough,
Jerry?" he inquired,
when they were on the
street arpin.

Jerry did but he shook
his head.

"No, I'm out looking
for a job."

His new friend looked
at him commiseratingly.

"Huntin' work!" he
ejaculated amazedly,
"I'd never thought that
of you, Jerry, after
what they did to you at
the 'pen.' There's just
one way for an ex-con to
make a living."

In rapid pantomime,
he presented a mythical
gun at an adversary's
head and went through
his pockets.

"I'm getting mine,"
he added. Then, after a
pause: " I've been work-
ing alone so far — it's
safer most times — but,
Jerry, I know you're
'right' and I'd double
"up with you. I know a
two-man job that's easy
money and safe."

"Thanks; but there's
nothing doing with me,"
Jerry answered deter-
minedly. " I'll find work
somewhere."

"You haven't a
chance, pal. You'll see.
I hangout round 'Spider'
Newman's. If you
change your mind, look
me up."

Returning jobless to
Maisie that night, Jerry
found her bending over
the baby's crib. The
feverish little face ex-
plained too well the
mother-terror in the woman's eyes.

"The doctor! Have you sent for him?"
cried Jerry.

"There's no money, dear."

"I'll get one," he promised.

"Pneumonia," announced the physician
the moment he saw the child. "A bad case,
but we may pull him through. Get these
prescriptions at once."

Maisie emptied her purse into her hus-
band's hand. Jerry hurried out and re-
turned with the medicine. A kindly drug-
gist had taken what he could pay and
trusted him for the rest. All night, the
husband and wife watched beside the crib.
At daybreak, Jerry, gray-faced, grim, went
out again to find work. He found it with a
street-sewer gang, worked just long enough
to plaster his shabby prison suit with mud
and refuse, and then was discharged.

Jerry returned to his room. His baby was
desperately ill and growing worse. The
doctor, a kindly man but poor himself, had
been in, left more prescriptions to be filled,
and asked, reluctantly, lor his fee. There

Photoplay Magazine

was no money in the house and no food.

Jerry went again into the streets and
wandered aimlessly, head bent, hands
clenched. Unconsciously he drew near to
"Spider" Newman's. Not until he saw the
groggery's flaring lights did he realize where
he was. The rumbling of the street traffic,
the whir of automobiles, the clanging passage
of crowded street-cars — none of this came
to his ears. All he heard was a baby —
Maisie's baby and his — gasping for breath.
He went in.

At the bar was the shifty-eyed man from
Lester Prison, a glass of whisky before him.

"Just in time! Have one, Jerry?"

NEXT
MONTH —

MORE of the mystifying activities of
"The Gray Brothers," the criminal
clique who succeeded, in this story,
in kidnapping the Governor of the State.

"Boston Blackie," the most-admired under-
world character in current fiction, next month
takes an even more thrilling part, in Jack Boyle's
second story for Photoplay —

"THE GRAY BROTHERS"

The drink burned like flame. Jerry, who
had had no food for thirty hours, felt it in-
stantly in his veins. He clutched his com-
panion's arm and drew him aside. There
was a satisfied glint in the man's eyes.

"Will you stake me to a ten-dollar bill?"
Jerryasked. " Mybaby's sick, maybe dying."

" I can always stake a pal, and I need one
to-night," answered the man. "If you're
the pal I need, here's your ten."

The man extended a bank-note. For just
a second, Jerry McWilliams hesitated; then
he snatched at the bill. The man led him to
a secluded table and ordered another drink
while they whispered together. With a
final nod of approval, the stranger crossed to
Newman's cubby-hole of an office beside
the bar and, after a whispered conversation
within, Jerry heard a drawer open and
close. A moment later he returned and
dropped a revolver, wrapped in a black
mask, into Jerry's pocket.

"Well, pal, we're ready," he said.

" Xn' until I've taken this money home
to my wife."

(Continued from page 30)

"All right. I'll go along with you."
Leaving his friend in the hallway, Jerry-
ran up the stairs and thrust the bill into
Maisie's hand.

"Buy the medicine the boy needs — food,
too. I've found a job at last," he explained.
The lie was like a searing iron on his lips,
the broken promise a leaden weight on his
heart as he went back to his comrade.

At midnight, a citizen dropped off a car
and started, whistling, along a deserted and
poorly lighted residence-block. In the black
shadow of a building, two masked figures
waited, crouching.

"That's our guy," whispered a voice in
Jerry's ear. "Come on,
pal."

As the two figures con-
fronted him with guns
leveled, the pedestrian's
whistle ended in the
middle of a note. His
hands rose above his
head. Jerry began a
rapid search of his pock-
ets.

And then two more
figures appeared. With-
out warning, Jerry's
arms were seized from
behind, and he struggled
in the arms of two
policemen. His com-
panion turned and ran,
but the officers, busy-
subduing Jerry, made
no effort to shoot or to
follow him.

In the midst of the
rescued victim's enthu-
siastic congratulations a
man rounded the corner
and joined the group.

"Here's Detective
McGlynn," hailed one
of the policemen. And
then to the grateful citi-
zen: "It's him ye can
thank for yer money and
dimonds bein' sale.
He's been watchin' this
bird ever since he come
down from Lester. This
night 's work will make
ye a sergeant sure,
Mac."

"It will that,"
answered Mc Glynn,
snapping handcuffs on
the captive's wrists.

Jerry's red-rimmed
eyes glared straight into
the detective's face.
The man was his footpad
pal — author of the hold-
up, provider of the
masks and weapons,
purchaser of. a detective-sergeant's stripes
for which Jerry now knew he must pay with
half a lifetime in prison.

His every muscle quivered as he looked
into the gloating eyes of his betrayer.
Then, swift as the thought that urged them,
Jerry McWilliams' manacled hands rose,
and the steel bracelets crashed solidly
against the detective 's temple. He toppled
backward, and his head struck the curb-
stone.

"He died," concluded Jerry. "At the
trial I told what McGlynn had done to
me. Newman denied that he had given
McGlynn the gun and mask, denied even
that I had been in his place with McGlynn.
The jury believed him, of course, and so
I 'm here to die along with you, Jimmy, on
Friday — day after to-morrow."

Jerry McWilliams rose and stared for a
moment in silence at the bit of sunset
light that filtered in through the screened
and barred window near the ceiling.

"One more day to live, Jimmy," he
said slowly, {Continued on page 95)

The
Secret
of Charm
Never
Changes

Throughout the ages it exerts its
power — this charm to which the world
bows, changing history and making
queens — of nations as well as hearts.

Few can describe it, for charm doesn't
depend upon beauty alone. The woman
who wields it may be dark or fair, of any
race or type. Only this is certain — she
has a perfect skin, fresh, youthful, free
trom blemishes — the irresistible attrac-
tion which all understand and admire.

Begin today to give your complexion
the care it needs and this charm will also
be yours. It's a beauty secret of ancient
Egypt and the beautiful Cleopatra.

How to beautify your sJ^in

Bad complexions are largely due to
lack of proper cleansing. The pores
become clogged, then enlarged, then
irritated. Blackheads and blotches

follow.

Volume and efficiency permit
us to sell Palmolive for

10c

The best preventive is a daily cleans-
ing with Palmolive soap. It makes a
balmy, creamy lather, for the base is
palm and olive oils. A gentle massage
makes it penetrate. A rinsing takes it
out, and with it come all accumulations
which have clogged the skin. Finish
with a dash of cold water and a touch of
cold cream. Then your skin will be fresh
and rosy, clear, soft, smooth.

A lesson from stage women

All women can learn something from
women of the stage, who use much rouge,
much powder. But they remove them
before thev sleep. And with them the
oil, the dirt and perspiration which
clog up the pores of the skin.

Their complexions will show you that
thev do no harm when skins are treated
the right way.

Ancient beauties ^nea) the Way

Roman beauties, in their famous baths,
used palm and olive oils. Egyptian
beauties used them in Cleopatra's time.

Now modern science finds no better
way to beauty than by scientific blending
of these oils.

Only I Oc, yet supreme

Palmolive soap costs little, yet it
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The Palmolive price is due to the
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a*«i

20<?

JIM KIRKWOOD, playing the role of an
English lord in "The Great Imperson-
ation, was surrounded by a number of
English actors now making their living via
the films.

One lad from the British Isles was talking
with the actor one day, and commenting
upon the difference in trees,
flowers and weather between
London and Hollywood.

"You've got some nice
trees 'ere," he said, "some
nice trees. But there are
are three trees I like — a hash,
a helm and a hoak."

TACK HOLT has been
J created a star by the
Famous-Players Lasky
organization and will make
starring productions for Par-
amount.

There isn't anybody on the
screen that screen folks them-
selves arc more delighted to
see gain stellar honors than
Jack Holt. He's a regular
human being, a good actor
and a good fellow. His
elevation to stardom comes
as the result of popular de-
mand and the need for
another male star on the
Paramount program.

Holt will appear in a series
of outdoor plays. At present
he is playing the masculine
lead in William deMille's pro-
duction of "The Stage
Door." He has appeared in
several deMille productions
lately, including "Midsum-
mer Madness" and "The
Lost Romance."

THE deepest shock and
grief has been felt in
Hollywood over the entirely
unlooked for and unexplained
suicide of Mrs. Jack Mulhall,
on June 6th, at her home in
the moviecenter.

Mrs. Mulhall, who was a
very beautiful girl, and was
affectionately known to all
her friends as "Bunty,"
parted from her husband in
the morning when he left for
the studio in apparently the
best of spirits. At ten o'clock
she called a taxi and drove to
a drug store on Hollywood
Boulevard, where she pur-
chased a bottle of chloroform. Driv-
ing home, she kissed her four-year-old son
and told him to stay with his nurse, in-
formed the maid that she was going to lie
down and was not to be disturbed.

When her husband returned at dinner
time he found her lifeless body on the bed,
the head swathed in a towel saturated in
chloroform.

The decorations for the party that cele-
brated their seventh wedding anniversary
were still on the wall.

The Mulhalls were noted as being one of
the happiest married couples in Hollywood.

Mrs. Mulhall, however, had not been in
good health for some time and her friends
believe that despondency over this condi-
tion caused her to take her own life.

DAVID WARFIELD has at last capit-
ulated to the pictures.
Marcus Loew is a very good friend of his,
and it was Mr. Loew who finally persuaded
the famous actor to film his great success,
"The Music Master." Warfield is working
on it now.

Plays and Players

{Continued from page 82)

A LITTLE neighbor girl was playing with
Bill Reid, son of the Wally Reids, in the
back yard, when she accidentally knocked
over an empty milk bottle sitting on the
porch for the milk man. Very much
frightened by the crashing noise and the
heap of broken glass, she turned to Bill with

The feminine readers of PHOTOPLAY will write their
own captions. Most of them will sound something like
this: "Oh — those darlings! Aren't they the sweetest things

you ever saw ! We thought so too that s why we are

presenting the DeBriac twins, both experienced film players.

tears beginning to stream down her face.

"That's all right," said Bill, patting her
hand. " Never you mind. Daddy'll be home
pretty soon and he's awful good at fixing
things."

GLADYS HULETTE is Richard Bar-
thelmess' leading woman in Dick's first
stellar picture. She hasn't been seen on the
screen for a long time.

IT is perfectly true, you know, that Sam
Goldwyn employs a stenographer whose
sole duty it is to follow Will Rogers about all
day with a pad and pencil, to take down the
things that the cowboy humorist scatters so
casually about the place.

1 suppose it would break Sam's heart if he
thought Will talked in his
sleep.

Rogers took a chance on a
horse that was raffled off at
the Goldwyn lot the other
day. In fact, he took fifty
dollars' worth of chances.
And of course he won the
horse.

"Didn't want the con-
founded thing," said the
star. "Haven't got my barns
done yet and I got all the live
stock around the place I can
do with."

However, on the day that
he won this animal, he de-
cided to stand luncheon
treat for the whole studio.
Everybody that ate in the
Goldwyn cafeteria
just handed their check to
the cashier, and Bill signed
the bunch.

Bill regarded the total of a
hundred and some dollars
with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well," he remarked, "I
should say men et that have
never et before."

He was a speaker also at
the banquet held last Satur-
day night at the Ambassador
Hotel, by the Actors' Equity
Association.

"First I wasn't comin' to
this affair," said Bill slowly,
" 'cause I guess I got the
distinction of bein' the only
man in the motion pictures
that don't own a dress suit.
'Course that's all right 'cause
I don't often get asked where
I could wear one. I don't
suppose most of you boys
know who I am even. I'm
just a actor, named Will
Rogers. But when I heard
that you was going to give
this feed at this hotel, I
I decided I'd come. I've
wanted to git inside this
hotel for a long time.

"By the way, I heard
somebody say they was
thinkin' of reducing the salaries of motion
picture stars. I just thought I'd mention
it, 'cause it won't never get mentioned
again."

[ARY DESMOND— Mrs. William Des-
mond— had a gorgeous new evening
gown of silver, white satin and white velvet
for a recent dinner dance in Hollywood.

When she was finally arrayed, she re-
garded herself in the mirror with a dubious
expression in her Irish eyes.

Just then her husband came dashing in
with a lovely corsage of lilies-of-the valley.

Mrs. Desmond gave one horrified glance,
and cried, "Heavens, Billy, take 'em away.
If I ever put those on all I'll need is a couple
of silver handles, and they'll call the pall
bearers."

"That reminds me of a letter I got the
other day," said Bill. "A little girl wrote to
me and she says, 'Dear Mr. Rogers — I have
just been to see one of your pictures. I had
never saw one before. I have always read
that you never used a double in any of
your pictures. After seeing you on the
screen tonight for the first time I want to
ask you, win- don't you ever use a double,
Mr. Rogers?1 "

CLARK THOMAS, now casting director
for Thomas H. Ince, says this is the
casting director's dream:

If you can find someone that looks the
part, be grateful.

If you can find somebody that can act
the part, be very grateful.

If you can find somebody that can both
look the part and act the part, get down
on your knees and thank heaven.

Photoplay Magazine-

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Plays and Players

(Concluded)

N'ame
Address

MAE BUSCH is the owner of an ex-
tremely infinitesimal dog of the
species Peke, by name Sing.

"He's the smallest one I ever saw," re-
marked a friend. "Do you really like such
a little dog, Mae?"

"Well," said the striking vamp, "he's a
very economical dog. Every time the man
comes around to collect the dog license I
tell him Sing isn't six months old yet. Sing
is approaching his 8th birthday and I've
never paid his dog fee yet."

A SON has been born to Alan Hale
and his wife, Gretchen Hartman, in
Hollywood.

PATHE is now entirely owned by Amer-
cans.

Charles Pathe, a Frenchman, founded
the company, which was one of the first
film corporations in existence. While the
concern expanded and extended its activi-
ties to this country, Pathe himself remained
in France, giving Paul Brunet the manage-
ment of the American business.

The parent company, Pathe Cinema,
Ltd., of France, has been absorbed by the
American stockholders of Pathe Exchange,
a seven-million dollar concern. Brunet
remains president, with Charles Pathe a
minority stockholder.

There will be no further changes in the
company except in the direction of its
expansion. Pathe at present is making
no feature productions whatever, confining
its activities entirely to serials and short
subjects. It is believed, however, that it
will, in time, return to the feature field
with other Kipling dramas to follow
" Without Benefit of Clergy."

WHEELS within wheels which have
revolved a few more times in the past
month would seem to indicate that the
engagement of Charlie Chaplin and May
Collins is not a fact — and probably never
will be a fact.

Rumor has even stated that when it
once was published — owinT; to the very
sincere friendship and admiration which
exists between the famous comedian and
the pretty little ingenue — it was allowed
to run its course without denial only because
of the immense good it could do Miss
Collins.

Already, we are told on good informa-
tion, her salary has jumped from $250 to
$750 a week.

May Collins, in other words, as a clever,
pretty, but unknown young girl, was worth
$250.

May Collins, as the possible fiancee of
Charlie Chaplin, is worth considerably
more.

However, it seems to be quite true that
Miss Collins' hand is being ardently sought
by an extremely handsome young lead-
ing man who has just signed a long
term contract with Goldwyn and who is
being hailed as a coming star and matinee
idol.

Anyway, young Mr. Richard Dix ought
to have a clearer field if Mr. Chaplin isn't
in the running.

SHADES of old Peter Delmonico!
What's the world coming to? (Apolo-
gies to Rupert Hughes.)

New York's most famous restaurant has
inaugurated Photoplayers' Night. Every
Thursday at Delmonico's, Fifth Avenue
and Forty-fourth Street, the film players
will hold forth on the roof garden. On
the first Photoplayers' Night, Wallace
Reid did the honors and presented a silver
cup to the best fox-trotters.

JOHNNY WALKER, who played the
J black sheep son in "Over the Hill," was
under discussion the other evening.

"They say he's getting very popular,"
said May Allison.

"I should think he would," said Bert
Lytell, "his name alone ought to bring him
a big following — especially among the anti-
prohibition forces."

A WELL known young actor and a
pretty society lady were introduced
at a dinner party in Beverly Hills.

"Oh, I've met you before," said the
young actor.

"Oh, no, I'm sure I'd remember," said
the lady.

"Yes, indeed, don't you remember,
on Cecil deMille's Siamese set at the Lasky
studio the other day, when you went
through with some friends?"

"Of course," said the lady, "but I didn't
know you with your clothes on."

WHEN Marie Prevost touched the
match to a huge bonfire on a beach
somewhere on Long Island Sound, she
started something. Or rather, she finished
it.

The last of the bathing girls has burned
her bathing suit.

Of course, it was only a publicity stunt to
attract attention to Marie's stellar contract
with Universal, whereby she engages to
appear only in drammer. But it was really
something much more serious than that. It
marked the end of a period in film produc-
tion. It wrote finish in the book of the
screen bathing girl.

The censors would have frightened her
away sooner or later. But she took matters
into her own hands. Beginning with Gloria
Swanson and Bebe Daniels, the film come-
dienne cherished ambitions, and as soon as
opportunity knocked, packed her swim suit
in moth balls and left comedies for drama.
Mary Thurman followed — and never went
back. Mabel Normand has not worn a
bathing suit in public for years. Harriett
Hammond is playing an important role in a
Lasky feature. And now Marie Prevost has
finished the job.

Of course, there have been desultory
attempts on the part of some of the lesser
producers to revive the vogue of the one-
piece bathing suit. But Mack Sennett, the
daddy of the screen bathing girl, has posi-
tively made his last appearance in the role.

RUMOR on the Goldwyn lot has it that
at last Will Rogers has been induced to
wear make-up. He had never put on a bit
of grease paint until his present picture,
declaring that he'd lose his self-respect if he
went to fussing with his face.

But when he had to wear the tights, ruf-
fles and plumes of Romeo, in his present
vehicle, Lon Chaney, the great make-up
artist, and three cowboys of the company,
roped and tied him, and Chaney made him
up.

When he saw how he photographed, Bill
was delighted, and now he owns a full set of
grease paint, mascara and everything — even
a mirror.

NOW comes Mrs. Lydig Hoyt, just dying
to break into the movies.

No, this New York society woman has not
been divorced or anything like that. She
wants to go into pictures because she is
famous for her beauty, for having posed for
a John Singer Sargent portrait, and for her
ability in amateur theatricals.

She was to have appeared first in a Norma
Talmadge film, but later decided that it was
stardom or nothing for her.

We leave it to you to choose.

Every advertisement in l'UOTOl'I.AY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Dog in the Manger

{Continued from page 64)

I never saw such gowns, I must admit.
Some women will do anything for that,"
Mrs. Essex raised superior •eyebrows.
"Unless I'm mistaken it's partly mercen.u v
on her part and partly just pure 'dog in
the manger.' You've no idea how many
women are like that. Just dog in the
manger, really.''

Kitty Glenn rose blindly, feeling with
cold hands for the ermine cape across her
chair. In a hot young voice she said,
"Jim, will you take me home? I can't
stay here."

As she stumbled between the too close
tables, she heard a last word in Mrs. Essex'
high-pitched voice. She was evidently
repeating herself, for the words that reached
Kitty's ears still clanged the phrase, "dog
in the manger."

Ill

It was very late when Morgan Deffand's
gorgeous velvet-lined limousine drew up
at the door of the stately white house on
the hill. The fog had begun to slither
before the approaching dawn.

It was the last dead hour of the night
when the soul of man feels the call of the
dust from which it came. The hour
before "there was light." Paula called
it her crucifixion hour, so many times had
she spent it battering her head against
the stone wall of her life.

Now, her marvellously-conditioned bedy
resisting the hideous fatigue of her mind
and heart, Paula Hew swiftly up the stairs
to her husband's rooms, while he lingered
below, fiddling about as he always did
with an afternoon paper, some unopened
mail, coats and wraps.

With rapid fingers that trembled not
at all, though her lips were grey, she swiftly
took Morgan's silver flask from her furs,
emptied the few remaining drops and set
it, empty, on his dressing table. A full
quart of liquor had been set on the table
beside his bed by the valet before he
retired. Paula took the bottle to the
gleaming white bathroom, poured half
its contents into the basin, refilled the
bottle with water from the hydrant, and
returned it to its place on the night table.

Then she straightened the two already
straight glasses, tested the water in the
pitcher with her finger tip, and ran swiftly
to her own dressing room.

When her husband came up, she was
sitting before the big, triple mirror of her
dressing table, a lace robe thrown about
her.

She heard him undressing. The thud
of shoes. The careless swish of cast-off
garments. The clink of a glass. A bar
of "Mammy" whistled sweetly, but un-
steadily. Another clink. The creak of
a bed

"Paula, Paul! Come kiss me good-
night," called the throaty, strong voice,
as persuasive as a broken bottle of perfume.

Startled, yet with suddenly relaxed
brows and mouth, Paula went to his bed-
side. Bent to kiss him gently, between
the sullen, black brows. She felt his
hands, strong, eager, against the silk of
her garments. His lips seeking hers,
instinctively, blindly. The reek of liquor
beating in her face. While her breast
rested almost yearningly against him, her
head, with a proud gesture, flung back
like a snake poised to strike.

He reached up for her and his hand
struck the bottle on the table. There was
a crack and shiver of glass, a wet sound of
something running on the thick carpet.

Paula's straining eyes saw it. She
sighed and lay motionless, letting the man's

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Dog in the Manger

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(Continued)

lips and hands have their will, while her
face grew pearly white with nausea. And
when her unresponsiveness, the fumes of
the alcohol and fatigue conquered him
and his hands dropped dead, she pulled
herself breathlessly, carefully away and
went to her own out-door bed to lie sleep-
less, sick, fear-ridden for hours.

Yet when she rose late the next morning
her sleepless hours showed little trace.
Serenity — the cold serenity of courage —
had returned.

It was one of the things about his wife
that Morgan Deffand had never been
able to alter — the fact that she chose to
wear clean, fresh linens and ginghams in
the morning instead of the exotic lingerie
he loved.

She was buttoning on a checked blue
gingham, a cigarette between her lips,
when she heard a sudden, impatient angry
word from her husband's room, and a
swift step toward her door.

Unconsciously she braced herself.

"Paul," said her husband as he came
swiftly toward her, his eyes blazing, his
hands holding out a little sheaf of papers,
"what in hell does this mean? Why
didn't you give me that bill from Feagans
last month? What do you mean by
letting them write me an insulting letter
about it? You opened it in the first place —
my bill."

Mrs. Deffand finished buttoning her
fresh little frock. In it she looked ten
years younger than she had looked the
night before.

"We didn't have the money last month.
You hadn't sold a thing for some time,
you know. I wanted to pay up some back
house bills and you've been spending a
terrible lot, with that motor boat, and your
new books."

"Paul, you're impossible. Good Gcd,
can I or can I not spend the money I sweat
and slave to earn the way I want to?
You're getting lately so you want to run
the universe. You get everything you
want, don't you?"

"No. You give me a great man}7 things
I don't want, however, and I know you
mean well. Hut you have no sense about
money. You're always in debt. Besides,
I didn't consider that bill one that should
be paid so promptly. I didn't know who
got the diamonds, you sec. I — dislike
diamonds."

The man stopped. In the white light
from the window his handsome face showed
only here and there a trace of the things
the night had seen. But a flush of anger
made it strangely vivid and virile.

Paula Deffand took a long puff of her
cigarette as she saw the flush reflected in
the mirror above her mantel. That intui-
tive sense of wifehood trembled again
through her being and she straightened
to it, like a broken fire horse who hears the
bell in the distance and doubts his ability
to bring the life-saving aids in time.

"Paula," Morgan Deffand began as he
stood before her, "I've made up my mind
this morning to bring this thing to a crisis.
I hoped I'd never have to do this. I hoped
you'd be reasonable and give me a fair
measure of freedom. You hate me. You
know I don't love you any more. It's a
wretched, pitiful farce, our marriage. It's
a joke to everybody. It isn't fair to you
or to me that it should go on any longer."

His wife raised cool eyebrows.

"Don't worry about me, Morgan," she
said in a cool, hard voice, "I'm quite well
satisfied. We've perhaps not been happy

for some little time. I think I could tell
you why, but you wouldn't believe me.
But please don't say again that I hate you.
You're not in a position to know. I am."

"Then why did you leave me last night —
why do you always leave me like that
whenever you can?"

"You were — drunk. A drunken man is
never nice, especially to his wife. The
odor — makes me very ill. I'm sorry. You
know that. If you wanted me you should
have passed up the last twenty highballs
you drank."

She went on, "And, my dear boy, why
this frantic desire for your freedom?"

"You want it, eh? You want me to
come right out and tell you I'm in love
with another woman? As though you
hadn't known it for months!"

"Oh, but Morgan, it wouldn't be the
first time you'd told me that, or I'd known
it for months, you know." Her smile was
as cold as north wind on her face, her
mouth as pitiful as a bayonet wound in a
baby's throat.

"Perhaps I have. But you must under-
stand that this is different. I — even
now that you and I are as far apart as
the poles, I can't talk to you about it.
You're still my wife. Until lately I admit
you've been a lot too good for me. Xow —
you must see for yourself it won't do.
You're all wrong in the way you try to
handle me. I can't bear a tight rein.
I've told you that repeatedly. I'll give
you everything you want, anything. But
I want to be free."

"Free to go to Daphne Cheltenham?"
The sting of horrible, spiteful jealousy,
wholly unconscious, rankled behind the
frozen sneer of her words.

Morgan Deffand sat down suddenly in
the big brown leather chair, the one thing
in the room that Paula had brought from
the old house — a chair worn and softened
to the curve of her body, a chair in which
he had seen her sitting a thousand times.

"Well," in the sudden haggardness of
his eyes, the wry distaste of his mouth
unconsciously rebelling even now against
this girl's name on his wife's lips — some-
thing of the wonderful charm and sweet-
ness of the man Paula Deffand still loved
shone through. "Oh, Paul, you know.
You know. Let's get it over. Don't
make me say it." Everything masculine
in him was fighting desperately away from
the unpleasantness of it. "I'm miserable
here. I have been for a long time — long
before I knew her. It isn't fair to blame
her. I can see just a bare chance of getting
back a little happiness with her."

Try as she would, the woman could not
bring her face to obey the effort of her will
this time. It went slack as a broken life
line. The last remnant of her beauty fled.

"With that girl," she said, with a supreme
naturalness, so unlike her former bitterness
that her husband faced her in surprise.

She sat down, too, in the straight chair
before her wide desk. The truth was that
her knees would no longer hold her erect.

"If you'd said all this yesterday, I might
have been coward enough to give in. I
hadn't seen her, then. I'm sorry, Bill,"
it had always been her pet name for him,
"but I can't."

He flamed anew at that. "Then she
was right. You're just — just a dog in the
manger. She said you'd never give me
up. You don't want me, but you don't
want anybody else to have me. You won't
make me happy, but you won't let her.
You — Paula, you — a dog in the manger!"

Her breast shook with the gasp she took
as the dagger struck home that he had
discussed her with the other woman. She

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Dog in the Manger

(Continued)

fought for her poise like a lagged swimmer
making a last effort to save herself. Bui
she still shook her head slowly. "1 can't,
Bill 1 can't."

"I can't understand you, Paula. What
can you be thinking of? You're not a fool.
You must see the truth. It isn't as if
there were children — "

A little cry came from her lips.

It had broken her — that last word.

The silence that hit the peaceful room
then, shrieked to be broken. At the open
window, a humming bird fluttered.

A thrill of pure fear swept Paula Deffand,
followed by a tidal wave of emotion such
as she had never dreamed could be, that
bore her up and left her without warning
at her husband's feet. The sea wall of
her passionate reserve, the last stronghold
of her crucified pride, fell crashing before
her suffering.

"I can't, Bill, I can't. If I could — oh,
how I want to. The peace of it, for me.
The quiet. Just my roses, my home,
missing you — but clean, like you were dead
— no more having to fight, not having to
worry — worry — not having to let them all
trample on my pride and my heart. To
be me — Paula — Paula Deffand — not your
wife. Just to dig, and ride, and swim
and read — oh, Bill, the peace of it, the
peace of it — but I can't! I can't!"

"Paula, you're insane. If you feel like
that—"

"I've felt like that a long time. Bill,
you know. Don't lie to yourself. There's
just you and me — no gallery. No children?
I believe God didn't send them because I
didn't have time or strength to be their
mother, with you. Why do I stick and
stick? I guess it's because love is bigger
than self-respect.

"I've never said all this before. I
couldn't. But now I say it — say it for me
and all the other women they call that
name — that 'dog in the manger' so care-
lessly. You won't admit it, no man ever
does. But I know if I gave you up, if I
let you go to this — this wanton, in a year,
two years, you wouldn't be the wonderful
Morgan Deffand any more. You're no fit
custodian for your genius. You never were.
Where would your work be without me to
nag and drive and jack you up — you, whose
every bone was created full of laziness that
this sun has fed and fed?

"Even with me to stand between and
stem the tide of your self-indulgence, your
terrible extravagance, your egotism, your
recklessness — look, look how you've drifted
down. If you don't believe me, you've got
to believe your work. It's in black and
white for you to see how it's gone back —
lost its soul and its purpose. You're so
changed — I look back to the man I knew,
my sweet, fine, honorable, loving — loving
boy — and I can't. My God, it's not for
me — it's for him I'm fighting!"

"Paul, Paul, don't! Don't, dear. You
mustn't look like that."

" Do you expect me to look like Daphne
Cheltenham when I'm staring straight into
a whirlpool that is sucking down the only
thing in the world I love? Xot much, it
seems, what I've done. Not a good wife,
nagging, petty, cold. But I've been coun-
teracting everything in the world and eating
my heart out between times, too strained to
be natural for a moment.

"I can't, I can't. No, wait, wait. Let
me say it. You think you've been unhappy.
You have been restless, seeking in the
shallows of sense for the real things, that's
all. And now you want to put that all on
my shoulders. Say I'm making you un-
happy, and being unhappy is making you —
do things. I'm making your home a hell

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Dog in the Manger

(Continued)

and so you go — outside. Well, you can't
do it — you can't say it and get away with
it, because it's a lie, a lie."

"You mustn't talk so, Paula. You're
getting all wrought up. You exaggerate — "

"Oh, no, I don't. I'm just the only one
that doesn't exaggerate. I'm the only
person in the world that tells you the truth.
A wife usually is. The rest of the world —
what's it to them? It's easy for them to lie
and toady and flatter. It would be easier
for me, but I'm not made that way.

" Xo, no, wait, please. I want to finish. I'm
so tired. I must say it all now, because
I'll never be able to talk like this again.

"There is a bond between us, dear. We —
why, we've been married! We've belonged.
We have been — you know we have — one.
Marriage like that, that starts with love,
isn't just a legal, material thing. It's a
— a metaphysical fact — like motherhood.
I'm your wife. You feel this sense of having
a home, a basis. It's a real thing.

"As for this other woman — that's nothing.
Oh, my dear, can you look me in the face!
Now it's Daphne Cheltenham. Last year
it was iittle Betsy Lee and Mrs. Griffiths.
And before that Madame Ordensky. Where
would you be if I'd flown off and left you to
marry one of them? What sort of life
would you have had if you'd married Mrs.
Griffiths — think how you hate and despise
everything about her now. I knew while it
wasgoingonwhattheendwouldbe — must be.

"Don't you suppose I can see ahead to
the time when this Daphne will go the same
way? I can't set you free to the horror
that things would be to you, the depths to
which you would find your way together.
There's hope for you with me, at least. You
respect me. And I'm fighting for you.

"Why, Bill, if I had a son — a baby boy,"
a drop of blood spurted out where her teeth
caught her lip, but she wiped it away with
her hand and went on, " If I had a baby boy
and because I punished him, he cried and
slapped me and wanted to run away and
said he hated me, as kiddies do, would I let
him go? If I had a son who had done
wrong and disgraced me and was so ashamed
he wanted to get rid of me because I made
him feel his degradation most, could I let go
of him while I could help him — because of
my pride? Well — it's just the same."

"Oh, no, it isn't." Morgan Deffand
stopped his tortured walk to look at her
where she held herself half supported against
the arm of the brown chair he had long since
deserted. "You're not my mother, you
know. I'm no child."

The woman's face softened, melted,
sweetened until it seemed to him that some-
body had turned a light on behind her eyes.
The tears gushed, and ran down onto her
twisting hands, but she smiled.

"Oh, yes, you are," she said. "I am —
your mother, some. Every wife is. If it
wasn't for the maternal in women, there
wouldn't be any marriage.

"I can't see you — let you go any more
than I could let my little boy run out into
the crowded streets, with great trucks and
tearing cars, because he was angry with me
and wanted to run away. No, no, no — "

"But your pride must — "

"Ah, I haven't any pride. I've never
had any pride since — the first time I for-
gave. Degree doesn't make much difference
to me. I laid it on the altar then — and now,
Bill, you wouldn't have me so small that my
pride could crawl down from that altar
because of what people say and whisper as I
go by. I can't, because they call me a dog
in the manger and whisper as I go by, coax
my pride down from that high place and pet
it and dress it up to meet their approval
again.

"Dear, believe me, it is you, you who
make the unhappiness. We haven't been so
unhappy. We like — to do the same things
together, even now. I make you com-
fortable. Your home — you like that. I
made it for you and I keep it for you. Sub-
consciously you always know I'm there —
back of you. You'd be lost — lost. You
don't know all the little things always done
for you — such a funny, temperamental boy!
The funny way you eat. Your clothes.
Your hours. The things you always forget.
Money and business matters. Your work —
how could you? "

"Am I as helpless as all that 5 "

"As helpless as that You don't know.

" If this woman was a good woman — if
there had ever been a really good woman
among them — but there couldn't be. I
never worried about that. Too much of the
best part of you is mine — mine — whether
you know it or not. It was the cheap
women always. I would have let you go
gladly, to a good woman, whom you really
loved and who loved you. Gladly — gladly.

"There aren't any children, Bill — no
children, no. You're all — all I've got. I —
I love children. But there haven't been
any. You're all I've got and I'm all you've
got. That's truth. When it comes to life
and agony and storm and things that count,
you'll find that out. I'm all you've got in
the world, really."

"Paula, my poor old girl, I didn't know.
I didn't understand. I didn't know you
felt like this. You were always so stern and
cold. You never said. I didn't know."

But his wife was silent, her hands pressed
against her eyes, her head sagging back.

"Listen, Paul, don't look like that. I'm
a dirty rotter. A rotter. I'll stick. Of
course I'll stick. Maybe I'll get more sense
some day. I'm all wrong. You're right.
You're all I've got in the world I could count
on. Never mind Daphne — anybody. I —
I guess you're right. You are — my wife.
There ought to be something — I'll try.
Some way. Help me, dear."

Hesitating, his eyes fearful and strangely
tender, he went to her and kneeling by her
side, put her back in the chair and with his
arms about her rested his head on her
breast.

And at the feeling of her heart, laboring,
struggling, beneath his cheek, he held her
close, desperately, and the tears that fell on
the crushed blue gingham were his tears,
too.

They stayed so, these two, strangely
bound, in the lovely quiet of the room,
where the hot, thrilling sunshine came
drifting through the bright chintzes, their
hands locked, their bodies very still.

The man's eyes were closed.

But the woman's wrere open — looking,
looking into the future. This was over.
She had won. Without planning, she had
played her trump card. She rested, but
only as a woman rests between the pains of
labor. The first step toward victory — that
was all. He had said, "Help me." Her
eyes gazed down the long vista of years.

// she could stand the gaff!

And impishly enough a flicker of sheer
laughter came into her eyes — laughter like
the play of a summer sun on a sea of deadly
storm. Laughter of a woman whose
sweetness and sanity had been saved by
laughing.

"I guess I can stand more punishment
than any woman of my weight in the
matrimonial ring today," she said.

The hot blood — the wild recklessness of
successful youth spent, this man of genius
her own, her own as surely as though she
had borne him. Years of real things, high
things — to offset the years of anguish.

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Dog in the Manger

(Concluded)

"Dog in the manger," she thought
bitterly.

Looking up, her eyes fell on an exquisite
head of the Christ child, framed in ivory,
between her windows.

"In the manger," she thought softly, "in
the manger."

The scent of orange blossoms and baby
roses and hot, enticing sun filled the room.

Time hung suspended in the yellow
splendor.

The woman, too, closed her eyes.

Through the Little Door

(Continued from page 86)
thoughtfully, "I don't know that I care so
much, for," — triumphantly, "Dan Mc-
Glynn's ten-dollar bill saved my baby's
life. My boy is well and strong now."

ANOTHER day had passed; another
night had come — the final one for the
two who had eaten their last dinner and sat
together in the death-cell. Between an end-
less succession of cigarettes, Jerry McWil-
liams studied the faces on the photographs
he drew again and again from his bosom,
The governor was strangely quiescent,
strangely apathetic.

The prison chaplain entered the cell.
He spoke kindly and with encouragement,
then kneeled and offered a prayer. The
condemned men kneeled with him, but, as
the governor bowed his head and closed
his eyes, the minister's words lost all
meaning and became merely a droning
accompaniment for the persistent vision
that tortured him. The chaplain withdrew;
the hours slipped away fast — then faster.

With the photographs he treasured
propped before him, Jerry McWilliams
wrote letters. Two were finished, sealed,
and laid aside, to carry a final message to
his wife and mother when his lips were
silenced forever. He was writing a third —
a long letter, for many closely written pages
came from beneath his steady pen. The
governor wondered for whose eyes those
last words from a man at grips with death
were intended. At last, Jerry gathered
the sheets and reread them with solemn
concentration.

"That ends the hardest task of all,"
he said as he finished.

"What task, Jerry?"

"That letter. It's to my boy, Jimmy,
and he 's not to read it until he 's old enough
to understand. If I could be sure that my
boy some day will profit by the lessons I 've
bought so dearly, it would be a comfort
I'd carry with me into the very arms of
'the chair.' I don't want him to believe
that his father was a murderer. I want
him to understand how it all happened.
I, a murderer! Am I that, Jimmy? Tell
me the truth."

"You're not," cried the governor,
seizing Jerry's hand. "If the governor of
this state had a conscience, if he were a
human being, even, and knew the truth
about you, he'd "

In the midst of his denunciation of the
governor, Jared Huested suddenly remem-
bered that he was the governor — or had
been; that he, as governor, had denied
Jerry's plea as unbelievable. Now, facing
death himself, this was his bitterest regret.
More racing minutes sped away.

The death-house door clanged. The
condemned men sprang to their feet,
muscles twitching, tense nerves strained to
the breaking-point. Their cell door opened
and the prison barber entered. He went

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Through the Little Door

(Continued from page 31)

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about his task quickly, for he dreaded it.
At first, the governor did not comprehend
what was being done. But when his hair
had been clipped and he felt the razor
baring a spot on the crown of his head in
readiness for the chair's death-touch,
self-control suddenly snapped and, crying
out fiercely, he dashed the razor from his
head.

"No, no, not that — not that, for God's
sake!" he cried. Then wildly: "I'm the
governor. I'm Jared Huested. This is
murder. You must believe me, you "

Jerry McWilliams' encircling arm quieted
him. The comfort of Jerry's friendly
voice nerved him back to sanity and the
cruel necessity of steeling himself to endure
these last hideous moments.

Again, for a few moments, he and Jerry
wrere alone. Then, faintly and from far off,
came the sound of moving feet.

"They're taking the witnesses into the
execution-room," whispered Jerry, who
never for a second left the governor's side.
"Steady, Jimmy! Hold yourself. It's
only a matter of minutes now. I 'm pray-
ing they'll take you first, for the few last
moments alone for the one who's left
behind, waiting, will be worse than hell
itself."

Though he was not conscious that anyone
had entered the cell, the governor found the
warden beside him with the death-warrant,
and the chaplain and guards waiting a step
behind. One guard stooped and slit each
of Jerry's trouser legs from ankle to knee.

"Am I to go first?" Jerry asked.

The warden nodded.

"It's time," he said. The chaplain
began to intone a prayer.

Jerry caught the governor's hands in his
and held them, tight-clasped, through a
long silence.

"Good-by, pal," he said, at last. "If
I could, I would have spared you the next
ten minutes. But hold yourself, Jimmy,
for there's nothing to fear. There's
something better than we've ever known
on the other side of the chair — there must
be. Well, good-by, Jimmy."

Jerry drew the two photographs from
their resting-place against his heart.

"Good-by, dear ones, and forgive me for
all the grief I 've caused you, " he whispered
very softly.

Then, smiling, as if already he had an
answer to that last plea, he waved a fare-
well to the governor and was gone.

Jared Huested dropped on his pallet.
He heard the slow tread of feet recede
down the corridor. He heard the little
door open and close. Then silence — a long,
terrible silence, in which the governor's
eyes, drawn by a fearful and irresistible
fascination, were fixed on the glowing
incandescent lamp.

Suddenly the light grew dim. The
governor cried out and covered his face.
Minutes passed.

The cell door reopened. Jared Huested
rose to his feet as he felt a knife rip his
trouser leg. One uncontrollable spasm of
terror left him with fiercely clenched teeth.
It passed, and in its stead he felt great
peace. Pleasant memories, long forgotten,
of his boyhood flashed through his mind.
An endless chain of trivialities, all pleasant
and soothing, filled his thoughts.

Everything was ready. Firmly and with-
out a tremor, he stepped out of the cell.
He saw the little door before him. It
opened and three steps beyond it he stood
beside the chair itself.

Before him, and seen dimly, as if through
a haze, were a circle of men 's faces, white
and awed. Some one urged him gently
toward the chair. He was in it now, with
two guards deftly strapping his arms and

legs. Somewhere behind him, the chaplain
was praying. He felt the cold electrode
pressed down against his shaved head.
The black cap was slipped over his face,
shutting out all light. Swift fingers hooked
something against his lips. The governor's
muscles strained against the straps that
bound him as he awaited the death-shock.

Suddenly his body stiffened with a sharp
jerk. Uncountable specks of dazzling
light flashed, not before but through his
eyes. His head seemed to soar, to swell
inconceivably, to burst in a blank chaos
of nothingness.

Through the blackness, the governor
became conscious of warmth. He was at
ease and utterly at peace. Then, with a
shock of unutterable surprise, he heard a
sound and recognized it. It was the stri-
dent honk of an automobile horn. He
opened his dimmed eyes and saw he was in
a taxi-cab.

"A horrible dream! My God, could it
have been only that?" he questioned,
raising his hand to his perplexed head. His
fingers touched the naked spot that had
been shaved in readiness for the chair.

As the governor shrank, shuddering,
against the cushions, there was a movement
on the seat beside him and, turning in
renewed alarm, he looked into the quiet,
kindly eyes of Jerry McWilliams.

"You!" he exclaimed.

"I must talk fast for in ten minutes this
car will drop you at the Capitol, Governor, "
Jerry explained. "The death-cell and the
electric chair you've just escaped were
not a dream, not a phantasy. They were
real. For three days you've been in the
death-house with me, but not at Lester
Prison. You've been in a cell prepared
expeciall}' for you here in this city. It was
the exact duplicate of the one at Lester.
From the moment we anaesthetized you —
I used hydrous oxide, Governor, because
it's entirely safe and thoroughly efficient —
and kidnapped you, you've been doing and
seeing precisely what you would have done
and seen if you actually had been in the
Lester death-house — if I really had been
Jerry McWilliams and you Jimmy Holman,
cell-mates condemned to die together."

"What is the object of this criminal
trick?" demanded the executive. "Why
have I been made its victim?"

"Because the law has decreed that Jerry
McWilliams who, we know, does not deserve
death, must die. Because we knew that
you, after the 'close-up' personal experience
you've just had, cannot fail to commute
him. Jerry has but one more day to live
unless you intervene. You know now
what that day will be to him. You know-
now whether he deserves it."

The governor sat in silence. His anger
was forgotten. He was thinking of the
Jerry McWilliams, whose cell-partner he
had been; his own fierce resentment against
the power that had decreed his comforting
friend's death still lingered.

"But, man, theJerryMcWilliamsI 've been
with during these days — that Jerry was
you! Was he, as I knew him, like the real
Jerry? Was his story, as you told it, this
man's true story?" the governor asked.

"Absolutely. Every word you heard in
that cell was God's own truth. You can
easily prove that. Send for 'Spider'
Newman — he 's one of the ward-bosses who
helped elect you — and grill the truth from
him."

The car slowed down at the steps of the
Capitol.

"Who has dared to kidnap and imprison
the governor of this state? " demanded
Huested as he stepped from the auto.

"The Gray Brothers," answered his
companion.

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Through the Little Door

(Concluded)

"And they are who and what?"

"A secret and invisible power with a long,
long arm, Governor — an arm that rates
right and justice even above the law of
statute-books."

As the governor climbed the Capitol
steps and the car whirled round the corner,
the chauffeur leaned back toward the man
who had been Jared Huested's cell-mate.

"Well, Blackie, will the governor save
Jerry, do you think?" the driver asked
anxiously.

"He will. My cell-partner, Jimmy Hol-
man, is the right sort of governor," an-
swered Boston Blackie, relaxing wearily
against the cushions. "Lord, Lewes, I'm
worn out. That death-cell business wasn't
pretense or acting with me. I actually
lived it."

"You here! Why, Governor, what has
happened?" exclaimed an amazed secretary
as the governor entered his office.

"I didn't go West. I've been making
a personal investigation of some prison
matters, " Huested replied. " Do you know
one of our ward-bosses named Newman?
Good! 'Phone him to come down here to
my office at once. And you can go for the
night, Norris. I sha'n't need you." Then
after a pause, the governor added:

"Before you go, fill out a commutation
for that condemned man, McWilliams,
whose wife and mother were down here to
see me. I may decide to sign it before
morning."

Movie Appraisal

TWO photoplay producers, once
friends, even though competitors
in the agency business, met in Los
Angeles recently. Their coming-together
was the first en counter in many years.
They were glad to see each other, and Smith
wound up an animated conversation by in-
viting Jones, who lived in New York, to his
home for dinner.

Smith has travelled. Jones has not.
Smith has made a name for himself with a
few exceptionally intelligent pictures. Jones
has made a lot of money with a lot of poor
pictures. Smith has improved his later
golden hours to acquire a little of the polish
so totally lacking in his youth. Jones has
improved his later golden hours to pile up
more gold.

Last year Smith went to the Orient. On
the wall of his drawing room hangs a mag-
nificent painting that he bought in Benares.
Its subject is the Taj-Mahal, that great
Indian monument to a monarch's deathless
love.

Jones was quite taken with the painting.
He inspected it from all sides, put up his
nose-glasses, and brought down his face.

"How much did this cost you?" he asked.

"Not so much," returned Smith. "Only a
thousand dollars."

"Ain't you the liar!" said Jones, grinning
genially.

"I'm telling you the truth!" affirmed
Smith, a bit testily.

"Say!" protested Jones, "I been putting
up sets for five years, and I know how
much materials cost. This is real pretty,
but if it didn't set you back ten thousand
beans to build, I'm a lunatic!"

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A.GNUTT

SITTER — This photograph won't do; why, I look
like an ape.
Photographer — My dear sir, you should have
thought of that before you came to me. —
London Opinion.

SAM, on board the transport, had just been issued
his first pair of hobnails.
"One thing, suah," he ruminated, "if Ah falls
overboard. Ah suttinly will go down at 'tenshun." —
The American Leg'on Weekly.

HIKING through the small French town, an ig-
norant chicken, unversed in the appetites of
American darkies, crossed the road in front of a col-
orded detachment. With much zeal a soldier broke
forth from the ranks and set out in pursuit.

"Halt!" bellowed the officer in charge. Both fowl
and negro only accelerated their paces.

"Halt! Halt!" repeated the officer. The dusky
dough-boy made one plunge, grasped the chicken by
the neck and stuffed it. still struggling, inside his
shirt.

"Dere!" he panted. "Ah'll learn you to halt
when de captain says halt, you disobedient bird." —
Q. M. C. Recruiting Xoles.

TJOSTESS'S Daughter (trying desperately to keep
*■ * the conversation going): "Have you ever heard
the joke about the curio dealer who had two skulls
of Columbus, one when he was a boy and the other
when he was a man?"

Fitznoodle: "No, 1 don't think I have. What is
it? " — Til-Bits.

""THE hen exclaimed, in accents rough,
* As on the nest she settled down:
" I'm trying to lay eggs enough
To hold the market prices down."

— Washington Slur.

KTORTH — "I see they're reviving the talk about
1^ trial marriages. Do you believe in them?"

West — " Well, mine is quite a trial, but I can't say
1 believe in it especially." — The American Legion
Weekly.

THE old lady sat on the hotel veranda watching
the children play. Presently a boy came up to her.
His hands were full of walnuts.
"Can you crack nuts? " he asked.
The old lady smiled sadly.

"I'm afraid I can't," she said, "I lost all my teeth
years ago. I do so wish — "

"Then hold these while I get some more," said the
boy.

1WIOSES: "Ve give little Ikey two shillings a vcek
**1 pocket-money."

Cohen: "Dat vos a lot of money every veek.
Moses. "

Moses: "Ah, veil, it pleases 'im. Vy let 'im put
it in the gas-meter; 'e thinks it is a mone'-box. "

W7ILLIE — Mamma, will you answer just one more
" question; then I won't bother you any more?
Mamma — All right, then, what is it?
Willie — Why is it that the little tiny fishes don't
drown before they have learned to swim? — Houston
Post.

A PROMINENT city man, who is as parsimonious
** as he is wealthy, is very fond of getting advice
free. Meeting a well-known physician one day, he
said to him:

"I am on my way home, doctor, and I feel very
seedy and worn out generally; what ought 1 to take?"

"Take a taxi," came the curt reply. — Til-Bits,
London.

"t-IALLOAl little man." exclaimed the doctor,
1 *■ "and what do you think of the medicine 1 sent
you yesterday?"

"I don't wish to think of it at all. doctor," replied
the child. "I want to try to forget it." — Til-Bits.

P)ISTURBING Element.— A well-to-do Scottish
*S woman one day said to her gardener:

"Mam Tammas, I wonder you don't get married.
You've a nice house, and all you want to complete it
is a wife. You know the first gardener that ever lived
had a wife. "

"Quite right, missus, quite right." said Thomas,
"but he didna keep his job long .titer he gat the wife. "
— The Watchman-Examiner (New York).

AN old dame at a railway station accosted a
** porter and inquired where she could get her
ticket. The man pointed in the direction of the
booking office.

"You can get it there," he said, "through the
pigeon-hole."

"Get away with you, idiot!" she exclaimed.
"How can 1 get through that little hole? 1 ain't
no pigeon!" — Til-Bits.

TWTISTRESS: "What is your name?"
ivl Maid: "Miss Jenkins."

Mistress: "But you don't expect me to call you
Mi^s Jenkins?"

Maid: "Ho, no. Not if you've got an alarum
clock." — Til-Bils.

I EW McCALL says that motorists who come
'—• through Columbus en route for Kansas City have
about the following conversation when they stop at
the filling station here:

If it's a Cadillac, the driver says: "How far is it
to Kansas City?" "One hundred and forty miles,"
is the reply. "Gimme twenty gallons of gas and a
gallon of oil," says the driver. Then comes a Buick
and the chauffeur says: "How far is it to Kansas
City?" "One hundred and forty miles." "Gimme
ten gallons of gas and a half-gallon of oil," and he
drives on. Along comes a flivver and the driver
uncranks himself, gets out and stretches, and asks:
"How far is it to Kansas City?" "Oh, about one
hundred and forty miles." "Is that all? Gimme
two quarts of water and a bottle of '3 in 1,' and hold
this son-of-a-gun until I get in." — Columbus (Mo.)
Advocate.

YOU can't fool a'l the people all of the time; but
* then, most of us are alive only part of the time.
— Life.

T SAY, porter, did you find fifty dollars on the

* floor this morning?"

"Yes, suh. Thank you, suh." — Brown Jug.

\ MAN returning home late one night was attacked
*» by a tramp, who, not satisfied with annexing
his victim's watch and chain, turned his pockets out
and took his money.

When the unfortunate man staggered to his feet
he beheld the tramp smiling at his discomfiture.

"Here's half a crown for yer, guv'nor," he said;
"my mate's down the road, and if he meets yer, and
you ain't got no money, he might hurt yer."

" T F a man had put a hundred dollars in a savings

* bank twenty years ago," said the statistician
after dinner, "it would amount to over two hundred
now, and he could buy almost as much for it now
as he could have got for the original hundred at the
time he began to save." — New York Sun.

"DEMEMBER, my good man," said the visitor
rV kindly, "that stone walls do not a prison make,

nor iron bars a cage."

"Well, they've got me hypnotized, then, that's all,

ma'am!" said the old convict, rudely.

"VV/E made a solemn compact on the day we were
" married that in all minor affairs my wife's

word should be law, while I should decide all major

ones."

"Has the scheme worked?"

"Y-yes, I think I may say so. No major affairs

happen to have cropped up."

"r^\ID you ever see a 'still' in operation?"

*-^ "Once," said Mr. Jagsby. "1 didn't get an
opportunity to study it, however."
"Weren't you interested?"

"Very much so, but just as I began my investiga-
tion there came a loud, authoritative rapping on the
door." — Birmingham Age-Herald.

" pAN I interest you in this beautiful ten-volume
^ edition of 'The Secret Memoirs of Cleopatra's
Court'?" inquired the agent.

"You can not," replied the man of the house
firmly. "My wife belongs to three afternoon card
clubs and I can hear all the scandal I really care for
without paying you a dollar a month for the rest of
my life." — Life.

AN emigrant ship was wrecked, and many survivors
landed on the Falkland Islands. When the news
reached home, the minister of a church to which
some of the emigrants had belonged included in the
service a prayer for the victims of the wreck.

Being a very cautious man, he worded his prayer
in this way: —

"Be with our brethren stranded in the Falkland
Islands, which are situated in the South Atlantic
Ocean."

"TTOW is your new book?"

rl "Why, I think it's punk, but my publisher
thinks it's better than my last one. "

"Well, perhaps you're both right." — Boston Tran-
script.

THIS play is taken from the book. He's Miser-
able, by Victor Hugo, the noted French writer."
— Panama Star.

He would not be less miserable, if he could hear
of this. — London Opinion.

Every advertisement m IMIO TOl'l.A v MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Pretty Soft to Be a
Star, Eh?

(Concluded from page 44)

" 10. You pay S5.000 for clothes which
you can never wear again and some of which
appear to you to 'look like nothing' on the
screen.

"11. You are interviewed — and inter-
viewed until you feel that if you ever had
a remote or latent idea that hasn't been
wrenched from you, you are lucky.

"12. You read scripts and scripts lest
you might 'overlook the bet' of the season
and, for the most part, you find each one
drearier than the one before.

"13. You 'make up' every morning at
an hour when most of the people you know
have just turned on their pillows for their
real sleep.

"14. You wait — you wait in yourdressing
room for the call to the stage. You can't
go downtown for you don't know when
you'll be wanted and there's the makeup
and the costume you're wilting in.

"15. The stage is all set— the lights are
ready — the scene is opened and one of the
members of the company, the one you are
going to denounce so grandly, has not
appeared and a message comes that he is ill.

"16. You must go to bed early every
night to be fit in the morning and you must
keep primed in every contortion of the
human physiognomy and be an expert in
every outdoor sport — for you never know
what you'll have to do — from playing golf
to diving from a 200-foot board.

"17. And when the picture is finished the
parts you liked best are cut. And the cry
of 'footage' wins and you drag yourself
home to read the next scenario.

"But — there is, nevertheless, an eigh-
teenth point, which circumvents all the
others and makes the whole thing worth
while. It is the life, the most interesting,
the most distressing, the most engrossing,
the most despairing, the most enchanting
that I can conceive of."

As an example of the remarkable fact
that the busier one is the more he finds time
to do, is a brief sketch of some of the things
Miss Davies is able to accomplish outside
the studio. She not only studies French
and keeps up with her singing lessons, but
she makes, as well as plans, at least one-half
of her clothes.

Accompanying this article are sketches
and patterns designed by herself for this
season's wear.

Griffith Still
a "Showman"

OX June 25th, Mr. Griffith's " 'Way
Down East" ended a run of forty-
two weeks "on Broadway," New
York. True, this was five weeks under
the longitude record of his "The Birth of
a Nation," which endured forty-seven
weeks at the Liberty theater in the same
city, but because the Forty-Fourth street
theater where " 'Way Down East" played,
is larger, the screened New England classic
has established a world-record for metro-
politan attendance. "Hearts of the
World" also ran at the latter theater,
continuously, from April 4 to Nov. 2, 1918.
These facts are worthy of note in demon-
strating that the Griffith mastery of the
popular imagination, while not demon-
strated in the challenging and spectacular
manner of a few seasons ago, seems never-
theless as fundamentally sound and strong
as ever.

When Eyes Are Close

Is Your Complexion at Ease

Does your complexion wince under the appraising
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TEMPERAMENT

By
THOMAS MEIGHAN

THE more I see of temperament, the
more I thank fortune that I haven't
any, or that if I have, I manage to
keep it submerged most of the time.

Temperament is a luxury that no one
can really afford to indulge in. It is too
much like drink or any other bad habit. In
fact it is only a display of temper disguised.
I don't believe any of us ever get too im-
portant in this world to be justified in a
display of either temper or temperament.
Elbert Hubbard once said, "Don't take

yourself too d seriously." And he was

right. The reason we get into the habit of
"flying off the handle" at the slightest
provocation is that we do that very thing.
We lake ourselves and our work too
seriously. True, we should invariably
regard our work with respect and give it
every consideration but we should also
maintain our sense of proportion — our sense
of humor.

Some great artists I know consider that
they have a right to be temperamental and
excuse it on the ground of their art. But
that's no excuse at all. And anyone who
goes through life making other people un-
happy can have no justification. The worst
of it is that the artist makes himself un-
happy as well. Do you suppose for a
moment that any of the ones who give way
to wild fits of temper often over a trivial
cause are the better for it? Science has
even proved that anger precipitates poison
into the system and results in disease. I
honestly believe that. A lot of great artists
die young — not because they are over-
burdened with their work or for any other
reason than that they give way to their
passions too frequently.

I have known many wonderful artists,
men like Dave Warfield, for example, or
John McCormack. I have seen stage waits
that would cause some stars to tear their
hair out by the roots and go into hysterics,
and I have seen someone go to Mr. Warfield
and try to apologize. Do you know his
answer? He would sav: "Well, you didn't
do it on purpose, did you? Then why

apologize? 1 might have made the same
mistake myself."

Some might say: "Oh, well, that sort of
leniency only breeds carelessness." Not so.
I never knew a man who had been thus con-
siderately treated to repeat a mistake.
His gratitude resulted in increased care and
respect for Mr. Warfield.

John McCormack never loses his head or
his temper; if he does he never shows it. I
recall once when he was singing in San
Francisco. Even the stage was packed
with people — packed to suffocation.
One woman near him was being pressed
against the rope that held the crowd back
until she was in physical agony. McCor-
mack, without pausing in his song, reached
for his knife, leaned over and cut the rope!
I never knew a more considerate man nor
one better loved by his associates.

Of course, we are all tempted to become
temperamental at times. Many things
happen in motion picture acting particu-
larly to disturb one's equanimity, for it is
an unduly trying profession at times.
Nevertheless, I do my best to maintain an
even temper and to overlook small things
that are unmeant. Of course, I will not
endure continued carelessness, studied
insult or sheer stupidity. But just the
same, I am sure there are many times that
I have been thankful that I could keep my
head and not give way to gusts of passion.

After all, we are all working together in
this world and striving to the same end.
Those who are not are in the minority.
Self sacrifice, brotherly love, consideration;
all these things are to be cultivated. The
Great War taught us a lot of things about
these traits of character which some of us
have very promptly proceeded to forget.

We can make it happy for ourselves and
others if only we will reflect a bit — think
twice before we speak once. And all the
prosperity, popularity, genius and achieve-
ment in the world can never justify us in
letting our temper get control. The
moment we do this, we relinquish our own
possession of our minds.

Every advertisement in PITOTOrLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

ioi

How I Keep in Condition

{Continued from page 40)

I ask you, is chocolate without whipped
cream and sugar?), eat a cereal, oatmeal
preferably, with salt and a little butter, and
two or three kinds of fruit, fresh or cooked.
For lunch I have fish, coarse bread, a salad
with plenty of lettuce and real olive oil, two
or three kinds of vegetables, comprising
only the following: carrots, spinach, greens,
summer squash, lima or string beans, and
tomatoes. For dinner, I have soup —
either a good strong broth, or a cream soup,
meat without trimmings, by that I mean
steak, roast beef, lamb, lamb chops,
chicken or veal. These are cooked simply —
roasted or broiled only. I have toasted
bread, any kind of salad I like, a baked
potato — the only way they may be cooked —
and a glass of milk. For dessert, 1 have
anything that contains no pastry.

Now this of course may be varied, but
the ingredients must be the same.

About once or twice a year, I go on a milk
diet. Every time I feel the slightest pang
of hunger I drink milk. That's all I eat or
drink except once a day a big hot baked
potato. That I think is also Marjorie
Rambeau's famous receipt for keeping her
beauty. It is marvelous how it clears out
the system. It lasts about ten days.

I always drink lemon juice in my water.
And I drink quite a good deal of water —
now. Not with my meals, though, be sure
of that.

For my skin, I use a great deal of reliable
cold cream. In dry climates that is espe-
cially necessary and in that case I should
recommend practically never washing the
face — only cleansing it thoroughly with cold
cream and an occasional steaming with hot
towels. My mother always taught me to
use lots of good soap and water on my face
and neck and ears. Well, it's all right for
the neck and ears, I guess, but it's death on
the skin if you use it much.

I honestly believe that walking is the
finest exercise in the world. I hate it — I'd
rather take a good licking than walk a
block. But I do it just the same. You
don't have to walk far, but you should do
some outdoor walking every day — not just
the average walking that housework makes
you do indoors. I try to walk at least
twelve blocks a day — that's a mile. Not
far, but it will do great things for you if you
keep at it.

The twentieth century woman feels it her
right to smoke a cigarette, drink a cocktail — ■
if she can get it — or a glass of wine with her
dinner. I'm a suffragette to that extent
myself. But it is one thing you cannot do
when you're working and trying to keep in
condition. You simply cannot.

The simple life is a great motto for a
woman who wants to look her best, feel her
best and act her best.

DPAW ME

AND WIN A PRIZE

Do You Like to Draw? pn°gpy^b^hd

send us your drawing — perhaps you'll win first prize.
This contest is for amateurs only ( 17 years of age or
more), so do not hesitate to enter, even if you haven't
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1st Prize . .
2nd Prize . ♦
5 Prizes, each

$50,00

25.00

5.00

** Z3

Everyone entering a drawing in this contest will receive
a beautiful monotone reproduction, suitable for framing,
of the work of a nationally known American illustrator.

If the thing you most long for is to be a real commercial
artist, listen ! Capable artists readily earn $50, $75, $100,
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Rules for Contestants:

This contest open only to ama-
teurs, 17 years old or more.
Professional commercial
artists and Federal students
are not eligible.
Note these rules carefully.

1. Make your drawing of girl
5 inches high, on paper 3'j
inches wide by 7 inches high.

2. Use only pencil or pen.

3. No drawings will be re-
turned.

4. Write your name, address,
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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Love Confessions of a Fat Man

{Continued from page 23)

" Now a fat man can certainly stand more
emotional excitement than most men. It
has farther to go before it hits any vulner-
able point. Scenes, thrills, bills, and
various other manifestations of the genus
temperamentus feminus rebound from him
with alacrity.

"In fact, it's all rather good for him.
And temperamentalism is not good for
most men. It frays their nerves and upsets
their digestion and disrupts their business.

"A fat man has no nerves, no digestion
and no business. At least, if he has they
need fraying, upsetting and disrupting.

"Some people think fat men may be
handsome. I shouldn 't like to be quoted
on that point.

"But anyway, with all she's got to look
after, woman today cannot be bothered
with all the grief and agony and care that
comes from having a handsome husband
running about. He takes too much looking
after. A husband — an ordinary husband,
requires as much looking after as a child.
A handsome husband is like having twins.
So she prefers somebody that, when she
tucks him in at night and says, "Don't
stay awake, dearie, I may be late," won't
sneak out and go sleep-walking around
the adjoining roofs. Fat men love to
sleep. It 's safe to leave 'em.

"Nothing is so humiliating to an efficient
woman these days as an unfaithful husband.
Fat men are inclined to be faithful. It 's
often a form of laziness, you know. Woman
used to be proud of having a Greek God
of her own. But competition is so keen
since the war she'd rather accept a good,
fat guarantee of fidelity and engrave on her
crest the motto ' Beauty is only skin deep.'

'A smart woman wants a husband that
will be a husband and stay a husband
without too much protest.

"A fat man is a sentimental idiot as a
general thing, filled with old-fashioned
ideas about home, honor and marriages
made in heaven. And since marriage is a
secondary consideration to the woman of
today who has equal rights with a man,
she will pass up the spinal thrills for un-
troubled domesticity.

"Ever hear the old line about 'Love
is of man's life a thing apart, 'tis woman's
whole existence '?

" Bunk. Absolute bunk. Love isn 't the
entire existence of the female of the species
in this year A. D.

"But a fat man doesn't mind that so
much. He likes to be let alone a good deal.
He can stand a modern wife who has as
many interests as he has outside the home.
It makes her lot easier to live with if she
has something to think about and pick on
besides him.

"A fat man is usually brave. He's had
to be. It takes a brave man to marry the
modern woman. She knows so much. It
takes a brave man to marry at all. You
walk into the church because some girl
wants you to, and the first thing you know
vou 're all messed up with posterity and
responsible for the sins of your grand-
children.

"However, I believe in marriage. Life
cannot be all sunshine.

" But I'm not sure as to love. Marriage
would be safer without love.

" If you fall in love, nothing does you any
good. It 's fatal. I don 't care if you know
as much about women as Lew Cody says
he does, if you really fall for one of them
you're gone; take your choice between
chloroform and the river.

"Why, if you don't care so awfully much
about a girl you show some sense. Instead
of treating her nice and jumping around
like a trick duck, you can ignore her.

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Treat her with superb indifference. Dis-
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"Of course any man ought to be capable
of falling mildly in love with every pretty
woman he sees. But be reasonable. Love
a little and a little while. Find a happy
medium.

"My only requirements for a woman are
that she be smart, well-dressed and have a
lot of pep. I can get along without the
blonde curls if they're apt to get tangled in
her fan belt. She ought to be a good fellow.
Never pick on a fellow because he 's a man 's
man. If he's got to wander around when
they go out together and smoke and talk,
it's an innocent diversion. There are a
lot worse.

"She doesn't have to be pretty. I can
look at the scenery most anywhere from
the Hudson to the Golden Gate. And I
can contemplate strings of pearls in any
jewelry window. If she's smiling and well
dressed, she's decorative enough for me.

"Every man starts life with a precon-
ceived notion about women. And love and
matrimony. Every man, and nine out of
ten are cut off the same piece.

"A man's ideal is most of the things
most men want to come home to — slippers,
drawn curtains, a bright fire, peace, praise,
comfort, and a good, hot dinner. He may
take his romance with a dash of bitters,
but he wants his matrimonial dreams pad-
ded so the sharp corners won't cut.

"Pretty soon he adjusts that viewpoint.
Qr some woman adjusts it for him.

"Now a fat man soon finds he needs
somebody with a little more pep. He and
a girl that's so full of pep she acts like a
dynamo will strike a good average. He
needs a stimulant, not a sedative. Whereas
most men actually crave a bromide for a
wife instead of a riot.

"I wouldn't marry the most beautiful
woman in the world if she asked me. A
beautiful wife is like a diamond necklace,
nice to have but a lot of bother to take care
of.

"Vou want a woman with pride in her-
self, who will keep pace with you. A fat
man isn't exacting about details. He
doesn 't care whether his wife gets up to
breakfast with him or not. I 'd rather she
didn't. I don't want to see anybody at
breakfast. I want to be let alone, with my
eggs and my paper. I'll bet you more
quarrels start at the breakfast table than
any other time.

"If she'll be up for dinner, bright and
fresh and ready to cheer me on, I '11 be
satisfied. I like intelligent conversation.
Not too highbrow — talking to some women
is like trying to fly across the Atlantic in an
aeroplane. Ten to one you won't make it,
and if you do you wish you hadn 't.

"The Turkish men are the most par-
ticular in the world — they can afford to be.
And they prefer fat women.

"That's why I believe the American
women, who are the most particular in the
world, are coming to appreciate the advan-
tages of fat men.

"Haven't you noticed what pretty girls
I cop in the pictures?"

He began to shake all over with a big,
jolly laugh.

"But you know, I have very high ideals
about women. I understand — the best
side of them sometimes. I like nice girls."

I just looked at him.

"But you don't deserve any penance,"
I said. "You could confess all that on the
porch of the Hollywood Hotel and not be
gossiped about. I'll have to absolve you
right away."

" That, " said he, with a complacent smile,
"is because I'm fat."

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Girl Problem and
the Pictures

By
MARGARET E. SANGSTER

EVA RVERSOX LUDGATE— al-
though she is an ordained Congre-
gational minister with the legal right
to put "Rev." in front of her name — looks
more like a motion picture star than an
evangelist. Perhaps that is why she has
swept like a whirlwind, this year, through
the ordinarily cold and not-too-enthusiastic
New England States; why she is, at this
moment of writing, drawing large and eager
crowds to her meetings upon the Harvard
Campus (where no one has ever successfully
evangeled before). Perhaps that is why she
preached, not so many months ago, to most
of the A. E. F. in France and Germany —
and got away with it!

The Rev. Eva and I were having break-
fast together in my apartment, when I
asked her what she really thought about the
movies. We have breakfast together when-
ever she happens to be in town, and we al-
ways go in, heatedly, for some discussion.
Usually it's about the Blue Laws, or Prohi-
bition, or Sunday Baseball, or the like —
usually it has to do with some current and
vital question. And usually — with all of
the guile that is in my nature — I try to bait
her, to trick her into an argument. For I
thoroughly enjoy the fighting sparkle that
comes into her eyes when some tiny state-
ment arouses, or displeases, her.

The sparkle came up, like a signal light,
when I mentioned the movies. The Rev.
Eva's cheeks flushed to a rosy red. And
words came — in an excited flood — from her
lips. Women — even when they are evan-
gelists— are like that!

"You want to know," she questioned,
"what I really think about the movies?
Well, I don't mind
telling you that I
have thought about
them a great deal —
and very seriously, of
late!

"You see," she was
grave and unsmiling,
"the pastor of a great
church came to me,
the other day, with a
request. I had al-
ways thought that he
was an exceedingly
broad-minded man —
but his request made
him seem suddenly
small, and narrow.
'Isn't it possible,' he
asked, 'for you to oc-
casionally speak
against the motion
pictures? I can't
help feeling that they
are a tremendous fac-
tor in our girl
problem!'

"Of course," the
Rev. Eva was smiling
slightly, "I was an-
gry. For I refuse to
admit that we have
any girl problem. I'm
— I'm enthusiastic
about the American
girl! I think that

Godfrey Studio

Miss Eva Ludg;
woman evangel

she's very wonderful and worth while. I
was angry — but I managed to conceal my
anger, as I answered.

" 'Just why,' I queried sweetly, 'do you
think that the movies are in any way related
to what you call our Girl Problem?'

"The minister was a large, ponderous
man. He puffed out his chest, importantly.
" 'Our girls,' he said, 'are degenerating —
fast. They're going down hill. Look at the
clothes they wear, look at the places they
frequent, look at their manners and their
slang! And — ' he warmed to his subject,
'where do they get the inspiration for their
clothes and their amusements and their
manners? They get them at the local movie
house, watching the latest plays! That's
why I want you to speak against the motion
picture!'

"It was just then," the Rev. Eva was
smiling reminiscently, "that I gave my
opinion on the subject!"

"And what?" I questioned — forgetting
that we were supposed to be having break-
fast, "what was your opinion?''

The Rev. Eva beamed at me, over her
coffee cup.

"In the first place," she said, "our girls
are not degenerating. I told him that.
And in the second place they are not being
hurt by the moving pictures. Although,"
she sighed suddenly, "they are not being
helped as much as they might be helped, by
it!"

The conversation was beginning to go
around in circles. With a slightly dazed
sensation I tried, wildly, to bring it back to
normal.

"Just how might the)' be helped — really?"
'I asked.

T he Rev. E v a
leaned her attractive
head upon one pretty
hand while the fore-
linger of the other
i raced mystic designs
upon the white table
cloth.

"The girl of to-
day," she said slowly,
"desires, above all
things, to be beauti-
ful and charming.
She wants to wear
the prettiest obtain-
able clothes; to make
t he most of herself.
That is win she some-
times goes to the ex-
treme in the matter
of sheer blouses and
short skirts and silk
stockings — why she
sometimes puts too
much color on her
cheeks and too much
powder on her nose.
"She wants to be
beaut iful, with all of
her not fully devel-
oped young soul.
And she thinks that
the shine of her skin,
te. the foremost through thin Geor-

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io4

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Richard Barthelmess

Is his own Boss now, and he's making
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The Girl Problem and
the Pictures

(Concluded)

that the sheen of silk hose is pretty, and that
pink cheeks are pretty. And that is why
she does certain things that short-sighted
folk condemn her for doing.

"The motion picture has helped to foster
this idea of beauty. It has shown lovely
women, and charming men, and beautiful
homes to many a child who has worked most
of her life in a factory — who has lived, for
countless years, in a slum. It has raised her
ideals, has set her groping after newer, more
wonderful vistas. But — it has stopped
there! It has not tried to direct her groping
— to set her on the right track. And it
might, so easily!"

"How?" I asked.

"If some clever person, in the motion pic-
ture business, would start a series of pic-
tures— for girls — he would be doing a very
useful thing," the Rev. Eva told me, "not
only useful — but profitable to himself.
There should be lessons in dressing well, in
making the home attractive, in being charm-
ing personally, in bringing out one's best
points — mental, physical and moral, and in
becoming popular and well liked by other
people. The motion picture theater that
ran such a weekly feature would — I am sure
— notice an increase in patronage. Why,"
the Rev. Eva was large eyed and very se-
rious, "why, the average girl would rather
miss her meals than such an opportunity to
learn!"

She paused and I filled in the empty space
with words.

"Do you think that this plan of yours
would be as popular in the cities as it would
be in the small towns?" I asked.

The Rev. Eva nodded.

"Yes," she said, "I do. City girls are just
as anxious to learn as any other girls."

First of the Immortals

(Concluded from page 55)

But his death brings, too, the compensat-
ing knowledge that the deeds and thoughts
of men endure. And it also makes vivid
for us the knowledge that the art of motion
pictures is not only of our short day and
generation, but of the long tomorrows and
the generations yet to come.

And this knowledge can not help but
inspire the efforts and strengthen the ideals
of those who still labor in the field where
he too dreamed and labored.

George Loane Tucker was born in Chi-
cago of an old theatrical family. He
studied law at the University of Chicago
law school and later was associated, at
various times, with well-known theatrical
producing companies. For the screen,
he produced the English and European
versions of "The Christian," "The Prisoner
of Zenda," and "Arsene Lupin." Perhaps
his most notable picture before he was
acknowledged one of the greatest American
producing directors was "Virtuous Wives,"
which starred Anita Stewart. After this
came "The Miracle Man" — and with it,
Tucker's complete recognition as one of
the masters of screencraft. Tucker made
only one more picture after "The Miracle
Man." It was "Ladies Must Live,"
which has not yet been released by Para-
mount.

Mr. Tucker was critically ill for several
months. His recovery had been extremely
doubtful for more than a year. With him
when he. died were his mother, Mrs. Ethel
1Tucker of Chicago, and his wife, well
known on the stage as Elizabeth Risdon.

Every advertisement in PHOTOl'LAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine— Advertising Section

I05

The Romance of the Third Dimension

(Continued from page 42)

THE MURDERED MAN

The dramatic contrast of tones, trie violent chiaroscura.
and trie converging lines of diminished lights focusing
the attention on the bed, produce the suggestion of the
ominous and tragic, which is the emotional motif of this
scene. There are no suspended rhythms or unresolved
movements here : all lines and forms are architectonically
static, thus producing a stimulus whose emotional
reaction is finality.

pheres and dramatic tensities. The differ-
ent schools of modern painting have deter-
mined and developed these various laws,
and in America are those who stand highest
in their respective lines of artistic research.
It is possible to produce an infinitely
superior picture to "Caligari" in our own
country, now. If the right men were chosen
for it, it would possess in a much greater de-
gree the illusion of three dimensions. It
would be a dozen times as varied as the
"Caligari" film, for within these shores we
have the leading representatives of practi-

cally all the modern art schools. Such an
American-made picture would not only be
more dramatically effective, but it would be
more original, more appealing and more
beautiful. It would be as far in advance of
"Caligari" as that picture was in advance of
the old-time conventional "feature."

Its cost would be about one-third that of
the average super-feature today. It would
end, once and for all, this silly talk about
"German invasion" and "German suprem-
acy." It would set motion picture produc-
tion ahead twenty years!

The Transit of Venuses

WILMETTE, fashionable suburb of
Chicago, is all torn out by a question
of female beauty as revealed in the
movies.

The subject for debate is: "Should a
movie theater be permitted to exhibit a film
showing bathing beauties silhouetted be-
hind a screen in the act of doffing their
street attire?"

A group of blushing citizens, viewing this
film, protested that the village needed movie
censorship. Accordingly, the offending
celluloid was viewed by Edward Gipf, pres-
ident of the Village Board; Mrs. John C.
Baker, president of the Wilmette Woman's
Club, and Mrs. Louis W. Crush, president
of the Catholic Woman's Club of the city.

"There's nothing objectionable in it,"
was Mr. Gipf's verdict. " It is nothing more
than can be seen any hot day on our sum-
mer beaches."

"Perfectly all right," said Mrs. Baker.

"Nothing that anyone could take offense
at," echoed Mrs. Crush.

Mrs. R. E. Bruns, of 751 Michigan
Avenue, Wilmette, the mother of five chil-
dren, says: "Movie censorship should be
imposed by parents, and not by the author-
ities. Parents should decide what films
their children are to see. Most parents send
their children to the movies to get rid of
them, so they won't be bothered with them"
— please accept Photoplay Magazine's
applause for the utterance of a great truth,
Mrs. Bruns! — "without a thought of what
they may see there."

If the common sense and practicality of
Wilmette could be distributed over these
United States, and a little more thickly in
Ohio and Pennsylvania than elsewhere, it
would be a great thing for art, for family
life, for decency and for tolerance.

FortySeven Thousand Theaters

ACCORDING to some late statistics
that's the number of photoplay houses
there are in the world today. Of this
total the United States alone has 18,000.
Surprisingly, the great territory of South
America, with its numerous cities and hun-
dreds of towns, is given a total of only
1200 picture shops, as against 3500 in Bol-
shevik Russia. Germany has 3731; Great
Britain, 3000; France, 2400; and Italy, 2200.
Scandinavia seems surprisingly low in the

list, with a credit of only 703, while little
Belgium has 778 — nearly three times as
many as fatly prosperous Holland. The
Turks don't do much picturing, apparently,
for this list finds only thirty-two picture
shops in all the Sultan's domain, while
starving Austria still has 800. Altogether,
Asia and Africa and Australia, with their
countless millions, have only 1361 film
theaters.

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io6

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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MISS VAN WYCK SAYS:

VG., Texas. — You wish to know if it
is proper for a young girl of sixteen
' to wear high heels and dresses at the
knee and bob her hair. I should say that
the high heels and short dresses were not
nearly so proper as the bobbed hair. High
heels are not so healthful for a growing girl
as low ones, and the exceedingly short
dresses are no longer so much in vogue.
If I were you I would cut my hair and
lengthen my dresses.

Margaret C. Y., So. Berkeley, Cal. —
Another bobbed hair question ! I would not
bob my hair simply because all the other
girls you know are doing it. However, I do
think bobbed hair very charming for a
young lady. If your hair is very long, it
would seem rather a shame to cut it. If
you do not, be sure always to wear it
dressed very simply. An elaborate coiffure
is hardly appropriate for a twenty-year-old.

M. F., Winthrop, Mass. — A very tall
girl should try to avoid long lines. Wear
your skirts as short as fashion dictates. If
you will study the sketches on the fashion
pages in Photoplay, I believe you will find
many helpful suggestions. There is no hard
and fast rule which guarantees that a cer-
tain style will make a slim woman look
plump, and vice versa. With your coloring
— light brown hair and blue eyes — it should
not be difficult for you to dress becomingly.

Regina M., Hastings, Minn. — Any and
all of the cold creams advertised in Photo-
play Magazine are very good. I heartily
endorse them and I am sure you will find
the results will be all that can be desired.
With blue eyes and dark brown hair, which
combination, by the way, seems to be a
popular one this month, you should find it
very easy to choose what colors to wear.

Helene L., Ellenville, N. Y. — For
your entertainment, I would suggest you
wear a very simple little evening dress. As
you are only fifteen years old, it should be
very simple indeed. In this issue of Photo-
play, I have had sketched two very charm-
ing evening dresses. Both are very simple
and either would be appropriate. I cannot
send you patterns of either dress, but if you
study them, you will know what is being
worn. Dress your hair very simply. Don't
be ashamed of that high forehead in spite of
the fact that the tendency today is to cover
the forehead and ears as much as possible.
A beautiful brow and small, well-shaped
ears are still matters for congratulation.

Lillian D. B., Indianapolis. — I have
not established a shopping service for the
readers of Photoplay. It is my aim to let
you know the latest developments of fashion
as seen in the new models from the ateliers

of Paris and New York. If you watch my
department and the frocks and hats
sketched there, as well as all the accessories,
you will never be at sea when you go into a
shop to buy anything. It is hard to know
whether or not advertised articles are
authentically in the mode. I am trying to
make this easier for you. If you will enclose
a stamped, addressed envelope, I will answer
you by mail.

Russell M., New Haven. — We are not
going to try to tell folk what the well-
dressed man will wear. That is a subject
which requires better judgment than I
possess. I believe there are magazines
which try to do this, but Photoplay is not
one of them. In fact, it taxes all my in-
genuity to tell what the well-dressed girl
will wear!

E. D. B., Canton. — Good health is really
the first rule of beauty. If you are feeling
fit, your complexion will not have blem-
ishes, your eyes will not lack lustre, your
figure will not droop. A woman with
commonplace features is often considered
pretty simply because she has a wholesome-
ness, a vivacity which count more than per-
fect profile. We cannot all be beautiful but
we can be charming if we try. Write to me
again and ask me some more specific ques-
tions.

L. O., New York City. — I will be very
glad indeed to see a photograph of your little
daughter. I will study it and advise you as
to what I think she should wear. I have only
one rule of dress which applies to young
and old alike: simplicity. Remember that
the smartest women do not wear elaborate
overdone things. Simplicity, as I remarked
on my two pages this month, is usually
more expensive than anything else!

MaryG., Detroit. — The latest golf togs
are the suits with knickers. They are
very sensible, I think, and very trim.
I am going to show you some new sports
things in the next issue. Please watch
out for them. Yes, the sleeveless dress and
jacket are still very good. Girls have been
wearing them all summer, and they are
practical and pretty.

Lucy, Pasadena. — My dear, I do not
like to dissappoint you, but I must ask
you, very seriously, not to wear those new
slippers on the street! And I would not
wear open-worked stockings except on
formal occasions. They are decidedly not
appropriate for everyday wear. With your
evening dress, why not wear a pair of
brocaded slippers? They come in silver
and gold brocade, with rhinestone buckles.
One of the very newest pairs is sketched in
my department, elsewhere in this issue.

Well, Hardly

LIVES there a man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said:
I can write a photoplay?

— The Photodramatist

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Goodbye, Bathing Girl!

{Concluded from page 33)

screen prop, it was Phyllis Haver.

'I don't know exactly what I'm going
to do," she told me.

She may remain with Sennett and follow
in Mabel Normand's footsteps with another
"Mickey" — or she has had an offer to
join a big eastern company and become,
so they say, a second Connie Talmadge,
which is quite an offer.

There is something about Phyllis Haver
that very few American actresses possess.
And that is the spirit of outdoors. Even
when you meet her beneath electric lights,
or in the artificial atmosphere of the studio,
she has a freshness that is like the freshness
of a meadow in spring. Her blonde hair
is bright and rather like new corn, her face
is browned by the sun, her eyes have the
quiet, cool look of outdoor people.

Her strength is amazing. Under her
soft, satin skin there are long, flexible
muscles like silver wire. When she hardens
them they bunch and ripple like a prize
fighter's.

She went into pictures about five years
ago — before she had finished high school.

"I was just actually pushed into pic-
tures," she said, with her frank, frequent
smile. "I hadn't any desire to go — hadn't
any ambition to work.

" I had a boy friend who worked out at
Lasky's. I was going to Manual Arts
High School in Los Angeles. He asked me
to come out one Saturday if I wanted to
and see the studio and how they- made
motion pictures. I was crazy to go, of
course, and I did.

"One director working there that day
saw me and he offered me a job on the spot.
He said he had a part right that minute for
me and even wanted me to borrow make-up
and work.

"I simply giggled my head off at him.
I told him I was in school — didn't want to
work. That night he called me at my
house. Three days later he called again.
I finally decided to do it. I only had a
month more in school and my eyes had
been troubling me. I played the part of a
cigarette girl. Then I did extras a while
and then one day I was sent for on the
Sennett lot. Honestly, it was funny. I'm
mighty lucky. That's all it ever is, really —
luck. They hardly let me get on the lot
before they hired me. I can't understand
it.

"I've been there ever since.

"But now — no mere bathing girl stuff
forme. I'm through."

Her mother only finds one thing remark-
able about her lovely daughter. "I never
saw such a disposition. From the time
she was a baby she always woke up in the
morning and began to sing in her bed.
She still does it."

Isn't that wonderful? The only thing
that keeps me from committing murders
in the morning is that people I'd like to
murder aren't around.

A girl who had chummed with Phyllis
Haver for years once told me that she had
never seen her angry.

To laugh as often and as easily and as
sincerely as Phyllis Haver, to wake up
singing and to sing through the toughest
days, to be actually contented and satisfied
most of the time — it's a wonderful gift.

I adore her clothes. Smart, simple,
outrageously expensive tailored things that
suit her clean-cut, blonde type, she is to
my idea the best dressed girl in pictures —
on the street.

Anyway, I hope she'll keep that bathing
suit put away in moth balls and when her
grandchildren gather about her knee she
can take it out and say, "Now dears, this
voluminous garment was once — "

I07

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WRITER'S DIGEST

CINCINNATI

Prize Contest

The famous Lester Park-Edward Whiteside photo-
play "Empty Arms," is creating a sensation. It
has inspired the sons;, ** Empty Arms," which
contains only one verse find a chorus. A good
second verse is wanted, and to the writer of the
heat one submitted a prize of $500.00 Cash will he
paid. This contest is open to everybody. You
simply write the words for a second verse— it is
not necessary that you see the photoplay before
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short synopsis of this wonderful photoplay. It
will cost you nothing to enter the coutest

Write postal or letter today to
"EMPTY ARMS*' CONTEST EDITOR

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PHOTOPLAY PRODUCTIONS

214 W. 34th St., Suite 15, New York, N. Y.

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

io8

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Vamps of All Times

(Continued from page 50)

aloft with the fatal knife, Artemis changed
her whimsical mind and with one of the
most remarkable sleight-of-hand tricks ever
performed on any stage, substituted a deer
for the beautiful girl.

But this did not end the incident.
Artemis, taking a liking to Iphigenia, spir-
ited her away to her gorgeous temple in
Tauris, where she installed her in brilliant
robes as her chief priestess in charge of all
sacrifices. Thus, through her obedience to
her father's will, Iphigenia found her posi-
tion changed from that of a sacrifice to that
of a sacrificer.

As such, it became Iphigenia's official
function to vivisect every foreigner she
could, hold of. This duty she performed for
many years to the best of her ability, al-
though it was afterwards explained by her
family that she never really acquired a lik-
ing for the job.

One day two strangers landed from a boat
on the shores of Taurica. In accordance
with the regular custom, Iphigenia had them
brought up to the altar and began her prep-
arations for the ceremony. As she was whet-
ting the knife she held in both of her white
and slender hands, she heard them talking
about their country. Thus she learned that
they had come from Sparta.

That gave her an idea. She suspended the
preparations long enough to write an auto-
graph letter to the old folks at home, telling
them where she was and that she was doing
as well as could be expected under the cir-
cumstances. This letter she addressed to
her brother, Orestes.

While the two strangers were arguing with
each other as to who should have the priv-
ilege of carrying it home instead of offering
up his life on the altar of a foreign country,
one of them happened to look at the address
on the envelope. Then, without further
conversation, he broke open the seal, opened
the letter and began to read it.

"How dare you!" exclaimed the priestess
angrily.

"This letter is addressed to me," he ex-
plained with affected calm; "I am Orestes."

"What — Orestes, the son of Aga — Aga-
memnon?" gasped Iphigenia.

"The same," responded the stranger.
Then, glancing at the signature and raising
his welling eyes to the priestess, he cried
with a choking voice:

"And you — you are my long-lost little
sister, Iph!"

The upshot of this extraordinary incident
was that Iphigenia, with Orestes and his
companion, who happened to be her hand-
some young cousin Pylades, sailed secretly
for home that very night. As a reminder of
his sister's distinguished career in Tauris,
Orestes took along the splendid statue of her
friend and patron Artemis and had it set up
in Athens. The Athenians, however, later
regretted the gift, as the statue brought the
bad habit of human sacrifices with it.

This experience supplied to Artemis one of
the best Seven Dramatic Plots in the world.
She turned it over to Euripides on a fifty-
fifty basis, but after the play had turned out
the success of the season and had run all
winter at the leading theater in Athens,
Euripides refused to carry out the terms of
the contract. Artemis was so deeply af-
fected by this evidence of masculine perfidy
that she haughtily disdained to sue for an
accounting and her share of the gross re-
ceipts.

Lacking as she was in sentiment, Artemis
seems to have been equally devoid of a sense
of humor. Members of Immortals' Club of
Olympus are fond of telling, over their am-
brosia and nectar-and-pepsin, the story of
the Calydonian boar.

Oeneus, king of Calydon, in Aetolia, had
the poor judgment or the misfortune, when

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One of the most fascinating char-
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JACK BOYLE

The author, famous for his under-
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Vamps of All Times

(Concluded)

he was sacrificing to all the gods one day, to
omit the name of Artemis from the list of
beneficiaries. In justice to Oeneus, it
should be said that the omission appears to
have been the work of his master of the
hounds, who was disgusted with the lady
game- warden's prohibition of hunting out of
season. This merry gentleman is reported
to have said, as he drew his stylus through
the name of Artemis in the omnibus list:

"Won't this be a pip of a joke on the old
Sour-Face!"

But Artemis could take no joke. White
with anger at the fancied indignity, she sent
a great boar of the most destructive pro-
clivities to ravage King Oeneus's territory.
It took all the heroes of Greece to bag the
savage animal, and it was a woman that
made the first dent in his bomb-proof hide
— but that is another story again.

The Amen Cornerites of the Immortals'
Club were in the habit of whispering with
knowing smiles of Artemis's great ambition.
For the achievement of that ambition she
tried her hardest to vamp the world. That
ambition was to descend into history, like
Queen Elizabeth several thousands of years
later, as the "Virgin Queen," or rather god-
dess. The Amen Cornerites were wont to
point to Artemis's goings on in Ephesus as
adventures that required an explanation.

As Ares put it one day when the butler
had forgotten to put the legal quantity of
pepsin in his iced nectar: "You've got to

show me how Artie can pose as the Queen of
Life and put the kibosh on married life at
the same time."

"Now just what do you mean by that, old
man?" drawled Dionysus, ringing for Gany-
mede, the head pepsin mixer.

"I pass," announced Ares after a signifi-
cant pause, deftly changing the subject.

On this issue the fame of Artemis seems
to rest under a Scotch verdict, similar to
that brought by the grand jury of History in
the case of Elizabeth vs. Riccio et AH.

As her peculiarities developed with the
increasing years, there grew up a popular
opinion that she was not only a "Sour-f; ce"
but also a "grouch," to quote King Oeneus's
waggish master of the hounds once more.

To this growing resentment against
"blue" legislation Herostratus, a millionaire
sportsman and man-about-town of Ephesus,
gave tangible expression by burning down
the wonderful temple of Artemis in thai
town. The building and its contents hap-
pened not to be insured. Smarting under
the heavy loss, and suspecting that Heros-
tratus had committed the deed in the hope
of achieving notoriety, the board of alder-
men of Ephesus, after a stormy meeting,
passed an ordinance forbidding the mention
of his name within the fire-limits of the city.

But the passing of that ordinance had
only one result — and that was to make both
Herostratus and Artemis more talked about
than they ever had been before the fire.

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I IO

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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HEADACHES

BEECHAM*
PILLS

IT ALL DEPENDS ON
WHERE YOU SIT

By SARAH LINDSAY

Decorations by
Erma Paul

FOREWORD

ONCE upon a time there was a
movie actor who took his art very
seriously. He tried mighty hard to
be a good actor, but in spite of his
efforts, the notices he received from the
editors pronounced him bad. Whereupon,
the actor was sorely grieved, and set out
to show the editors their mistake.

EPISODE I
Scene — Editor's Office
Time — Any day in any month

"I'm sick of being called a bum actor,"
cried the movie star. "Why won't you
say something good about me sometime?"

"Why won't you learn to act?" the
editor retorted.

"I don't like your writing any better
than you like my acting. If you'll teach
me to act, I'll teach you to criticise," the
actor bargained.

"A fair exchange is no robbery," quoth
the editor. "Suppose then, you stay here,
and, amid the turbulent quiet of an edi-
torial office, publish. my magazine for me.
I'll take your make-up and show you
acting as it should be. Perchance you can
show me something new about editing a
magazine, and maybe I can show you
something you don't know about acting."

"As a man of ideas, you take the prize,"
applauded the actor. "You're on. I wish
you luck, and I'll bless you out unmerci-
fully in the next issue."

EPISODE II

Scene — A Movie Studio

Time — Any day after the day in
any month

"That light hurts my eyes," the editor
snarled. "Besides which, the story is
rotten, and I don't like the leading lady.
She's a head too short, and her dress is in
rotten taste."

"It's the story, you simp — " this the
sweating director.

"I said it was rotten."

"And if you don't like the light, don't
look at it. Now put some pep in this — if
you're any kind of an actor at all."

"There's too much noise around here,"

bewailed the editor. "I can't make love
in a mad-house."

"You can if you're mad enough," smiled
the leading lady with sweet sarcasm.
"Exercise your neck a little. Taller men
than you have made love to me."

"Ye Gods!" screamed the editor. "I'll
have you know I'm an — "

"You're a darn rotten actor," growled
the director. "Some pep now. Camera!"

EPISODE III

Scene — Editor's Office

Time — Same any day after

"Speaking of the 'editor's easy chair',
I haven't found anything so comfortable
about this one," the actor sighed. "Can
you suggest anything for the issue we are
going to offer the public next week?"

"We've written everyone in pictures up
to the collar, and down to the last shoe
button," answered the first assistant
"When we ran out of praise, we handed
them blame. Turn on your idea box —
think of something new."

"Call in the office force," the actor said.
"Perhaps they'll have an idea."

"Attention, everybody," ordered the
first assistant. "Line up, and fire ideas —
if you have any."

"Get a picture of Charlie Chaplin lickin'
Doug Fairbanks," suggested Eddie the
office boy.

"I think a story of Mary Pickford's
home life would be cute," lisped Goldie,
the steno.

"Or perhaps — why Mary Garden didn't
like the movies," spoke up the art director.

"Old stuff," groaned the actor.

"0 well," sympathized the first assistant,
"let's write up the sorrows of the director,
and razz the actors a bit more. That
always gets away like hot-cakes in Childs."

EPISODE IV

Scene — Editor's Office
Time — Some time later

"As an editor, you'd make a better
actor," opined the editor.

"Yeh, and may I return the compliment,"
yawned the actor.

"Well, are you ready to go back and
act?" demanded the editor.

"I am. And if you call what you did
good acting, then I'm a John Edwin Booth
Barrymore."

"You are," the editor agreed. "And
I'll tell'm so in the next number, if I can
persuade anyone to buy it, after what you
did to the last one."

"Thanks," said the actor, and he strolled
out.

"Now," murmered the editor, "let's
have a little pep in it. Attention there
Kodak!"

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

i i I

The Old Nest

(Continued from page 37)

dressmakers must live. Slowly the mother
reached for the bills. Gently she raised
Kate's hand and crushed the money into
her fingers.

There would be a time of explanation and
justification and argument with Anthon
later, but now the mother smiled. She
had made her daughter happy.

There were letters from Tom, now
established but not prospering as a lawyer
in New York. When Tom wrote it was
to ask for a check. Things were coming
slowly he said. Mother always found a
way, even when Dr. Anthon was impatient
or hopeless.

Jim, promising his mother to do better,
took a job in Atkinson's store. His mother
told Dr. Anthon of it with pride.

But Anthon held his reservations. He
had found Jim giving more attention to
novels than the medical works that he
was urging upon the unwilling boy.

The Anthons, beaming and happy with
the gladsomeness of Kate leaving for the
party, had hardly settled themselves for
the evening when a call came at the door.
It was Atkinson, the store keeper. The
old man looked bitter and savage. Anthon
hurried Atkinson into his office and offered
him a confortable seat.

Instead of being seated the caller stood
stiffly.

Dr. Anthon smiled and taking his watch
in hand reached for Atkinson's pulse.
Atkinson jerked away. He drew a mem-
orandum book from his pocket.

"I'm not as sick as you'll be when you
hear what your son Jim has done to me."

Anthon started back. "What do you
mean?"

Atkinson, tapping his memorandum book
significantly, told a tale of till tapping,
persistent continued appropriation of
money.

" Do you mean to say my son is a thief?"
Anthon was humiliated and deeply
wounded.

Atkinson went over his memorandum
of shortage, item by item.

"It ain't no snap judgment," he said.
"I let Jim get away with it twice and then
I watched him."

Anthon stepped into the hall and called.
"Jim. Oh Jim!"

There was no answer. He stood waiting.
Mrs. Anthon came to the door of her
room and softly answered her husband, her
voice filled with the tones of placation.
"Jim's not in yet — but it's not late."
Mrs. Anthon looking down saw her
husband's worried look.
"What is it, Horace?"
"Oh, nothing." Dr. Anthon tried to
smile. Mrs. Anthon hurried down the
steps as Anthon went into his office to
rejoin Atkinson.

"The boy will be in soon — we'll wait to
hear what he has to say."

Atkinson looked incredulously at Anthon.
"Oh, you'd get him out of town would
you!" Atkinson was mightily excited.
He sprang toward the telephone.

"I'll have him arrested!" The store-
keeper shouted.

Mrs. Anthon flung open the door and
came in just as Anthon stepped forward to
interrupt Atkinson's effort to call the
police. Jim came in at the front door.

"Jim, come here." The boy came to
the door of his father's office. The sound
of Anthon's voice meant trouble to Jim and
Jim knew what the trouble was when he
saw Atkinson.

Jim looked straight ahead when he heard
Atkinson's charge. His first thought was
to lie, to deny it all and try to face it down.
He looked into his mother's pleading,

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The Old Nest

{Continued)

hoping eyes. Then lowered his head with
a flush of shame.

Mrs. Anthon gasped, then she stiffened.

"We'll pay it back, Mr. Atkinson —
every cent of it."

Mother love was fighting for her child.

"There it is, right down in the book —
two hundred and twenty-five dollars —
that's what your son stole." Atkinson
gave notice that he was waiting.

Hard faced, Dr. Anthon sat down at his
desk and wrote with an unsteady hand.
He drew two checks. One he handed to
Atkinson.

"For his mother's sake I hope that you
will accept this — and say nothing."

Atkinson went with his money. When
the door had closed behind him Anthon
turned to Jim.

"It was my fondest hope that I would
have a son to take up my work, as I took
up my father's. You have disgraced an
honorable name — my son a thief! You
will take the first train out of town and
never let me see you again as long as you
live."

Anthon handed Jim a check for a hundred
dollars and turning, picked up his medicine
bag and started on a call.

Jim stood dumb. His mother rushed at
Anthon.

"Give him back to me — he's mine —
mine. Oh you will, you must. I'll keep
him close to me — I'll guard him always."

Anthon's eyes went wet, but he shut his
jaws with a snap. He went to the door
bag in hand. He paused and turned to
Jim.

"Be sure you are not here when I come
back."

Jim touched his mother gently, when his
father had gone.

"I'll come back, mother — I'll make good
and come back to you."

That night Mrs. Anthon lost Jim, and
that night in another of the inevitable
workings of fate she lost Kate. Harry
Andrews, enamoured of the girl, brought her
home. The romance developed swiftly
and there was a wedding. When it was
over and the gay party had gone, leaving
behind the silent house, flower laden and
rice strewn, Mrs. Anthon clutched Emily
to her breast and broke into sobs.

"They are all gone but you, Emily. You
won't ever leave me, will you?"

And Emily earnestly shook her head and
cried.

"No — never, mamma."

But Emily grew to young womanhood.
Down in New York were her sister Kate,
her brother Tom, now a lawyer of promise
and growing prosperity, and Frank, estab-
lished in art.

So when Sister Kate invited Emily east
for a visit there was no refusing. Emily,
as beautiful as an allegory of Springtime,
went to the station accompanied by her
mother. Mrs. Anthon was weeping bit-
terly, clinging to the girl with the desperate
fear of parting.

"I'll be back in just a few little weeks,
Honey-Mother. "

"All the children said that — and none of
them ever came back. " Mrs. Anthon was
sobbing.

"But I am never going to marry— and
even if I should be such a fool, I '11 make
the wretch live next door. " Emily de-
livered her lightly given promise with a toss
of the head and girlish assurance. Only
the young can be so sure.

" All aboard, " called the porter and Emily
stepped into the Pullman. She was at the
window waving goodbye to her mother,
as the train pulled out. Mrs. Anthon
choked back the tears and smiled as she

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Old Nest

{Continued >

flung a farewell after her. The mother
lingered at the station until she was sure
that the train was safely over the draw-
bridge. She never ceased to fear. That
bridge had cost her a beloved son.

On the train fate and destiny were
at work. In the waiting line of hungry
passengers at the dining car Emily coinci-
dentally met Molly McLeod, a chum of
boarding school days. There were gurgles,
kisses and chatter, then an introduction to
Molly's brother Stephen, a handsome
youth, bound for New York and a career.
He had no thoughts for New York as his
eyes fell on Emily.

Busy in his big office in New York,
Brother Tom was in conference with his
friend and client, Senator Raeburn. Hur-
riedly Tom turned over his desk calendar
seeking the date of a decision. He came
across a forgotten entry to remind him of
his mother's birthday. Tom paused, stung
with repentance. He seized the phone and
called his sister, Kate.

"Did you send mother a birthday
present? "

"No! Well I forgot it, too. Rush out
and get something and make up a good
excuse and send it off."

Tom turned to Raeburn apologetically.

"This deadly grind — I haven't been
home in years. "

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself,"
Raeburn was the height of reproachful
dignity. "Now if either of my parents
were living I'd "

Tom waved his hand. "You'd be as
bad as the rest of us."

"Yes, I suppose so," Raeburn confessed.

"Little Sister" Emily and her young
friend Stephen McLeod became a puzzle
and a problem to her New York relatives.

"If we don't get them apart soon, Emily
will never go back to mother," Kate sighed.
Which fired Tom with an idea.

"Raeburn is looking for a young man to
go to France with him. His secretary is
getting married or something."

Stephen McLeod, violently in love and
anxious for a career and money, jumped at
the chance. Emily was precipitated into
tears. She had a mental picture of Paris
and the gay life that gave her terrified
anticipations.

Back at home in Carthage Mrs. Anthon
sat daily for hours, wondering and wishing,
turning over and over the photographs of
her nestlings, now gone out in the world,
yearning for them with the keenness of her
mother love.

Just when her New York brothers and
sisters were making ready to send Emily
back to Carthage and her mother, as
Stephen 's sailing date approached, the
young folks appeared at a family gathering
at Tom's home with an announcement.

"I just couldn't have Stephen go away
to that wicked Paris without me," Emily
stated by way of preliminary.

"And, and so " She held up her

ring finger. "So we are married."

Tom blazed up angrily.

"Poor mother — what about her?"

That did not disturb Emily — thoughtful
Emily.

"I sent them a wire — and just as soon as
we get back from Paris —

Tom recoiled.

"You sent a wire — ten words!"

And all of Tom's unhappy anticipations
about the receipt of the wire were justified.

With his hand shaking and grim fore-
bodings in his mind, Dr. Anthon received
the messenger and signed the book. Slowly
he went to his wife's room with the tele-
gram in his hand.

A wire for you, mother."

A look of terror came into Mrs. Anthon 's
eyes. The mail was fast enough for good
news, Mrs. Anthon knew. It was always
the bad that came by wire.

"You read it for me, Horace."

The blow fell crushingly on them.
Anthon tenderly put his arm about his
wife 's shoulders.

"Didn't our mothers take on terribly
when we were married?" he said. "So I
guess we can't blame Emily."

"Oh — I don't blame her — I just — I just
want her. "

When the Anthons sat at table that
evening the room seemed strangely still.
Anthon looked across at his wife.

"We are just where we started, Mother —
just you and me." He tried to smile, but
his lips quivered.

Late one night Mrs. Anthon startled at a
tapping at her door. Anthon was out on
a call. A moment later Jim, the outcast,
stepped into the room. The mother's
heart leaped. Tim came to her bedside
and she gathered him in her arms. He was
roughly dressed and unshaven — but he was
her Jim.

" I am making good, Mother. I am cattle
ranching in the west. I have got my
chance, but they are pushing me hard. If
I can get two thousand dollars for a little
while I can pull through and I'll be fixed."

There was no questioning his mother's
eyes. She had the ultimate implicit faith
and hope of motherhood. At her direction
he brought her a big pin cushion that
reposed on her dresser. Deftly she ripped
it open and poured a heap of jewelry on
the bed.

"It's the miser's hoard, Jim — I knew it
would come in handy some day. Take it
and sell it — do anything with it that you
can — I do so want to help you."

Jim kissed his mother and went out into
the night again.

Tom Anthon was brought up with a start
and a stab of pain that day when a letter
came from his mother.

"Now that I am able to sit up again, I
am writing to you first off, " it started.
His mother had been ill and he had not
even noticed that her weekly letters had
not been coming!

Stricken with remorse, Tom called his
secretary, looked at his busy calendar in
despair, and dictated a wire.

"Your letter filled me with heartbreak.
Am taking Twentieth Century Limited
this afternoon. Reach home in time for
dinner tomorrow night. "

"Now," he said to his secretary, "we
will do five days' work in five hours."

Tom 's telegram was like a touch of miracle
to the convalescing mother. Against the
protests of Anthon she arose and went to
the kitchen, beginning vast preparations
for Tom's homecoming dinner. She had
new life and strength. The old house was
a-stir again.

Then came the most cruel blow of all.

The dinner hour was approaching. The
table was set and another telegram came:

"Called to Washington on important
state matter, detained indefinitely, will
try again soon. Dearest love.

TOM "

Mrs. Anthon stumbled off upstairs to
her room. Her heart was gone.

Back in New York Emily and Stephen
were due, in the wake of the returning
Senator Raeburn. Kate, on the way to
the docks to meet them, stopped at Frank's
studio to take him along. Absorbed in
his work, Frank demurred. While they
were talking in came Emily and her hus-
band. The steamer had docked two hours
early. (Continued on page 115)

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The Old Nest

{Continued from page 113)

"You'll get to Carthage just in time to
have Christmas dinner with the old folks."
Frank said it in his matter of fact way.
He had no idea other than that Stephen
and Emily were going to Carthage.

"Why!" Emily was taken back by his
assumption. "Stephen and I have to go
to Washington with Senator Raeburn this
afternoon. "

Then Emily whirled on Frank.

" You are always trying to send me home.
Why, you haven't been home in years!"

The weeks rolled by and spring came
again. Then one exciting day the local
daily papper tossed on the Anthons'
door-step contained a headline:

CARTHAGE MAN HIGHLY

HONORED.

President Appoints Thomas

Anthon Attorney-General

of United States.

"I always said my son was a wonder,"
said Dr. Anthon, beaming on his wife.

"My son — my son," the mother mur-
mured.

"But it's a pity your son couldn't have
telegraphed before we read it in the paper. "
Anthon was bitter again.

"The attorney-general is too busy to be
sending telegrams to old fogies like us."
Mrs. Anthon was defending and excusing
her children as of old and always.

The Old Nest

NARRATED, by permission, from the
Goldwyn picturization of Rupert
Hughes' story of the same name. Scenario
by Rupert Hughes. Directed by Reginald
Barker with the following cast :

Dr. Horace Anthon Dwight Crittenden

Mrs. Anthon Mary Alden

Tnm la&e 1J Johnny Jones

1 om> \age 36 Richard Tucker

T- I age 10 Buddy Messenger

Ju>1' \age 22 Cullen Landis

„ I age 9 Lucille Ricksen

Kate' Sage 21 Louise Lovely

Frank (■ age ** Robert Devilbiss

' S age 28 J. Parks Jones

Emily \age 1Z BiIlie Cotton

•'' S age 22 Helene Chadwick

Uncle Ned Nick Cogley

Hannah Fanny Stockbridge

Stephen McLeod Theodore von Eltz

Molly McLeod Molly Malone

Harry Andrews Lefty Flynn

"They took me into the firm today!'

The telephone rang. Mrs. Guthrie, the
chronic patient, was calling Mrs. Anthon.
She had read the paper, too. Mrs. Anthon
answered with pride.

"Yes, yes. "

"Funny you didn't tell me anything
about it." Mrs. Guthrie was being a cat.
The maliciousness told on Mrs. Anthon.
but she unfailingly sprang to the defense.

"Well, of course we've known about it
a long while, but the president asked Tom
to let the announcement come from the
White House. So we kept quiet."

"Mother, mother." Anthon was
shocked, but he grinned.

Mrs. Anthon went back to her chair.
She was feeling as useless and cast away as
an old broomhandle in the world's back-
yard.

The suffering, hurt old mother was in the
throes of a nightmare, reliving again the
horror of the wreck that killed Arthur,
when the doorbell startled her with its
chirr.

"Somebody calling the doctor — too bad
they can't let him sleep," she murmured.

There was a hurrying on the steps and her

"I'm to be manager of the Eastern Di-
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a month! And me ! A member of the firm !

"Remember how we used to talk about
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much to even hope for.

"Remember the night I filled out that
coupon and sent it to Scranton? We made
a wish that night, and it has come true.

"One of the vice-presidents told me today
that the first time he really knew I was
around the place was when the Inter-
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a letter, telling him I enrolled and had
received a mark of 93 for my first lesson.

"I didn't know it, then, but they were
sizing me up. The reason I was promoted
so rapidly after that was because my studies
were always fitting me for the job ahead.

"I haven't missed the spare time I spent
in studying at home. The lessons were all
so easy to understand — so practical — so
helpful in my every-day life.

"Where would I be today if I hadn't sent
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at the same old salary, I guess — always
afraid of being dropped whenever business
slacked up.

"The folks at the I. C. S. are right, Mary.
The trained man always wins!"
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The Old Nest

(Concluded)

door was flung open. Mrs. Anthon sat up
in bed. Tom rushed into the room and
flung his arms about her.

"Mother — I have a tremendous surprise
for you." His voice was like a boy's.

Mother knew what Tom had to say, but
like the mother she always had been she
pretended a wild curiosity.

" I 've been appointed attorney-general of
the United States. I hurried home to be
the first to tell you."

A shade of doubt came into Tom's eyes.
He stood back from his mother to look at
her.

"The news leaked out — but you hadn't
heard?"

"No, darling baby."

Mother lied again — for her son. "I
hadn 't heard a word of it until this blessed
moment. "

Tom rushed to his mother and kissed the
tears of joy from her eyes.

"Oh, I'm glad of that — and I have
brought the whole family home for the
celebration." Tom turned and shouted.

They came trooping in through the open
door, where they had stood in waiting for
the summons, — Kate and Emily and Frank
and Stephen, and Jim — then Dr. Anthon.

Jim was the picture of a successful
ranchman. He went up to his mother's
bed and spread out the jewelry he had
borrowed.

"You see, Mother, I 've made good at
last. "

"I knew you would." The mother
hardly glanced at the jewelry. She was
thinking of Jim and his estrangement
from his father. She called Anthon.
The father came forward, hesitated a
moment, then put his arm on Jim's
shoulder.

"Well— my son." And that was all he
needed to say.

Mrs. Anthon raised her face to Heaven
in gratitude.

Questions and Answers

(Continued from page 74)

A. W., Rhode Island. — The custom of
bottling tears is practiced in Persia, but
fortunately not in this country. Fancy
bottling all the tears shed by Lillian Gish in
"Way Down East"! I have no record of
Mary Pickford in "Enoch Arden." How-
ever, Lillian Gish and Wallace Reid filmed
it for Mutual some years ago, while Linda
Arvidson and Wilfred Lucas did it for
Biograph. D. W. Griffith directed both, I
believe. "The Mother Heart" is Shirley
Mason's latest picture. Larry Semon is
thirty. Richard Travers in "The White
Moll" with Pearl White.

Henrietta, Detroit. — Who fixes that
star's hair? Well, do you mean her hair-
dresser or her druggist? Corinne Griffith
is not the wife or the sister of D. W. Griffith.
They are not related at all. Corinne's
latest appearance is in a Vitagraph picture
in which Catherine Calvert also appears.
Jack Pickford's real name? Why, John,
I suppose, though I've never heard any-
body call him that. He was the husband
of the late Olive Thomas. Mary's pictures,
"Through the Back Door" and "Little
Lord Fauntleroy" were made under Jack's
direction in cooperation with Al Green.

T. H., Baltimore. — I have never heard
of an Anetta Harner in pictures. She may
have done extra work, and in that case we
would have no record of her appearance.
I am sorry. If I ever hear of her I'll let you
know.

Every advertisement In rilOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Questions and Answers

{Continued)

A. Niki, Kobe, Japan. — Your letters do
not trouble me. On the contrary, you are
quite correct when you say that I have
sympathy and kindness in my mind — as far
as you are concerned. Sorry 1 couldn't
answer sooner but you should see how much
work I have to do. In the large theaters in
New York and other American cities, the
program changes once a week. In the
smaller houses, twice a week and sometimes
every day. Peggy O'Dare is married now,
and not playing in pictures. Possibly a
letter addressed to her at Universal City
would be forwarded to her. Eddie Polo is
married and has a grown-up daughter, Miss
Malveena, who sometimes appears in
Universal films.

Dorothy. — I read somewhere about a
thing called the radio-micrometer. It is
said to be so sensitive that it will respond
if anyone near it blushes. Not much
chance of trying it out, is there? I would
like to see one of those good old-fashioned
girls who still can blush without assistance
from her makeup box. Priscilla Dean's
latest pictures are "Outside the Law,"
" Reputation " and " Conflict." Here is the
cast of "Reputation": Fay McMillan,
Laura Figlan, Pauline Stevens — Priscilla
Dean; Pauline Stevens, the child — May
Giraci; Morty Edwards — Harry Van Meter;
Dan Frawley — Harry Carter; jimmy Dorn —
Niles Welch; Max Grossman — William
Welsh; Karl — Spottiswoode Aitken.

Mrs. R. C. L. — Happiness is what you
make it, not where you take it. Otherwise,
your letter was correct. Elaine Hammer-
stein is still single. Buster Keaton is
married to Natalie Talmadge, and Dorothy
Gish isn't divorced.

R. Dorothy, Philadelphia. — I don't
believe in "Early to bed and early to rise."
But, then, I have never tried it. I gener-
ally find that when I get up very early in
the morning, I feel extraordinarily arrogant
in the forenoon — and go to sleep in the
afternoon. That doesn't please me, or my
stenographer. You want more males in the
rotogravure section. I confess I prefer the
ladies.

Doris, Detroit. — You should have a
good calling-down, for you're upstage. If
all the actors you say sassy things about
were as upstage as you they'd hate them-
selves. Frank Thomas in "Nearly Mar-
ried," with Madge Kennedy. Miss Ken-
nedy is resting this summer but will go on
tour with her play, "Cornered," in the fall.
Frank Morgan was the husband, and John
Cumberland the friend, in "Baby Mine."

Edith M. Morris, Camden, N. J. —
Thank you for your blurb about me. You
needn't apologize to Delight Evans because
you wrote it in vers libre. She can't possibly
answer for all the free poets. However,
your verses were charming — because they
were about me; and I think you will be put
on the list of Favored Correspondents.
(You see how easy it is to get around me.)

Grace B., Cedar Rapids, Iowa. — So you
don't know how to express your admiration
for Jim Kirkwood. Why not write to him
about it? Your school teacher, who rarely
goes to pictures, says James Kirkwood is
her favorite actor? He's one of mine, too.
He is to be a Paramount star soon. He
certainly deserves stardom as much as any-
body, and I wonder that producers have not
realized this before.

Oei Tjong Yong, Java.— Only too glad
to oblige you. Jack Dempsey retained his
title as world's heavyweight champion
against the French challenger, Georges
Carpentier, July 2, 1921. Winifred Allen
in "The Woman and the Law." Ramsey
Wallace was the leading man, and Jack
Connors was little Jackie. Helen Holmes
is not working at present Ruth Roland is
not married. Pearl White's husband is
Wallace McCutcheon, who has often played
opposite her on the screen.

A. C.

Omaha. — Short and Sweet and
cousins. Really — Antrim is thus related to
Blanche. Miss Sweet is riow in Hollywood.
She returned from Europe some months ago.
I do not know when she will make more
pictures, as she has been quite ill and is only
just recovering her strength. She's not
married. Neither is Antrim. He is one of
the leading characters in Vitagraph's "The
Son of Wallingford."

D. Yorke Jarrett, England. — Many
thanks for the very kind letters. I appre-
ciate your interest. Pauline Frederick is, I
believe, an only child. She resides with
her mother, Mrs. Lotta Frederick, in
Beverly Hills, California. There will be
pictures of her home in October Photoplay.
I have no record of Mahlon Hamilton's screen
appearance with Miss Frederick. Hamil-
ton is married. Write again ; always glad.

Lola. — I have great fun reading your
letters, which are sometimes intentionally
amusing and often otherwise. So both
Lillian and Dorothy Gish sent you personal
letters. Yes, indeed, I'll let you know when
I hear that Lillian is engaged. She has
never been married.

Private Homer L. D., Cuba. — You wish
to know if any director needs a signal man
who knows the semaphore code when direct-
ing mob scenes on location. As a rule, the
directors do all the wig-wagging necessary —
and then some.

Eva May. — The "Girl on the Cover" of
the July Photoplay was Gloria Swanson.
Bebe Daniels is the senorita gracing the
August issue. Write again — for a thirteen-
year-old you are exceedingly sensible.

Mae M., Frisco.— You enclose a poem,
asking me how I like it — "that is, if it is a
poem." That's the question, Mae — would
you call it a poem? However, to our stint:
Charles Ray is married, and Albert Ray is
his cousin. Mrs. Charlie was a Miss Grant.
Mrs. Albert was Roxanna McGowan.

Terence C. — If you get your complexion
from your father, he must have been a
druggist. Thank you for your picture,
which you colored so vividly. Here's the
cast of "Pleasure-Seekers": Mary Winchell
— Elaine Hammerstein; Craig Winchell —
Webster Campbell; John Winchell — Frank
Currier; Rev. Richard Snowden — James A.
Furey; Clara Marshall — Marguerite Clay-
ton. Yes — the same Marguerite Clayton
who used to be with Essanay.

Miss Billie. — I can't write "awfully
cleverly" to order. It's always an accident,
honestly. You say you would promise to
send me some fudge, but you know I must
get tired of having girls promise me candy
and then never getting it. What an in-
genious excuse! Corinne Griffith and
Webster Campbell are married. Vincent
Coleman opposite Constance Talmadge in
"Good References" and Constance Binney
in "The Magic Cup." I have no recent
address for Francis Feeney; you might write
to him care Universal.

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job checked.

Architect Lawyer

Building Contractor Machine Shop Practice

Automobile Engineer Photoplay Writer

Automobile Repairman Mechanical Engineer

Civil Engineer Shop Superintendent

Structural Engineer Employment Manager

Business Manager Steam Engineer

Cert. Public Accountant Foremanihip

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When >ou write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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HOW TO BECOME A

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EARNING $35 TO *l£5 A WEEK

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Questions and Answers

(Continued)

A. H. E., Gainesville, Fla. — You think
Photoplay is the best magazine you ever
read. Well, I know it's the best magazine
I ever worked on. That is, if you call this
work. Shirley Mason's real name was
Leonie Flugrath. Viola Dana is the widow
of John Collins. She's Shirley's sister.

Dot. — The fair-minded man is the man
who sometimes admits the umpire's decision
against the home team is right. I saw Babe
Ruth run home the other day. I think a
good story and a good director would make
a good movie star of The Bambino. J.
Warren Kerrigan in "The Joyous Liar."
You discovered J. Warren a little late, my
child; he was a screen star for some years,
but right now doesn't seem to be doing
much. Thomas Meighan is six feet tall and
weighs 190.

Elizabeth W. Willey. — The Editor en-
joyed your letter, and so, when it was
passed on to me, did I. You say you almost
wish your small niece had never read
Photoplay, she asks so many questions
about her favorites. Bebe Daniels pro-
nounces her name Bee-bee, with the accent
on the first bee. She wouldn't object too
strenuously if you call her Babe or even
Beeb, but I've an idea she prefers Bebe.
Miss Daniels is not married.

H. O., Denver. — You say you think I
don't like you any more because you didn't
send me another box of your home-made
candy. My dear Harriet — your not sending
another box of your home-made candy
made me like you all the more. Rudolph
Valentino is with Metro, but he has just
been borrowed by Paramount to perform
the leading role in George Melford's pro-
duction, "The Sheik." Valentino and Alice
Terry were the lovers in "The Four Horse-
men of the Apocalypse" and "The Con-
quering Power," both Rex Ingram produc-
tions for Metro.

R. Z., Mayaguez, P. R. — Your Latin
and your French floored me. All the Latin
I know is "Amo, amas, amat," so I don't
know whether you were telling me I was
terrible or wonderful. Of course I know
which I am, but I didn't know that you
knew. Creighton Hale is, I think, under
contract to D. W. Griffith. At any rate he
appeared in Griffith's "The Idol Dancer"
with Clarine Seymour and Richard Barthel-
mess, in "Way Down East," and is now
working in "The Two Orphans." Hale
played opposite Mollie King in "Her
Majesty." Geraldine Farrar was born in
Melrose, Mass. Bebe Daniels will probably
send you a picture if you address her care
Lasky studios, Hollywood, California.

Charles E. Quick, Scranton. — James
Morrison played opposite Jean Paige in
"Black Beauty." Miss Paige is now Mrs.
Albert E. Smith, and is making a new
picture, "The Prodigal Judge." Much of
James Morrison's early screen work was
with Vitagraph. Have no record of him
being with the Wharton studios at Ithaca.
During the war he was in the officers' train-
ing camp, but did not get to France, and
was not with the Red Cross in Italy. There
must be another James Morrison.

Esther L. U., Schenectady. — Don't you
take life a little too seriously? Cheer up,
as Shakespeare has so often said — it may
not all be true. Norma Talmadge is 26,
Natalie 24, and Constance 22. Mahlon
Hamilton is married, but his wife is not in
pictures. They have no children — neither
have the Talmadge sisters.

M. M. C. — You were bored to tears
writing to me? Well, all I can say is that
my yawn, as I pound out my reply, is so
huge that it threatens to swallow my corona-
perfecto, and only my more gentlemanly
qualities restrain me from telling you what
I think of you. Agnes Ayres is not married
or engaged. She is now in California
making her first stellar picture for Para-
mount. Agnes was made a star by popular
demand. I was one of the demanders.

J. E. B., Chicago. — Lon Chaney is not
really a cripple, although he did look it in
"The Penalt5'," as the legless man. He
played with Priscilla Dean in "Outside the
Law." Mary Pickford, not Marguerite
Clark, is making "Little Lord Fauntleroy,"
playing both the child and "Dearest," his
mother.

Mary I. O., Oregon. — "Who is Madame
Glyn?" She is an English writer — "Three
Weeks" is her chief claim to literary fame.
Elinor is the widow of Mr. Clayton Glyn.
Her two daughters, Margot and Juliet, were
married not so long ago, in London, to
titled Englishmen. Madame Glyn is now
writing original stories for Gloria Swanson
at the Lasky studios in Hollywood: the first
of them is "The Great Moment," already
released.

Jessie, III. — Mary Thurman is playing
with Roscoe Arbuckle in "Should a Man
Marry?" so you may address her at the
Lasky Studio, Hollywood. Mary isn't
married. Her hair is red and bobbed and
banged, and it's very becoming to Mary.
If Harry Carey ever lived in Argyle, Wis-
consin, he never confided in us. William
Fairbanks is not related to Doug. The
latter was born in 1883.

Arthur K., Independence. — You wish
to know how to pronounce John Pialoglo.
What pleasant weather we are having — a
little too warm, though, don't you think?
Quite so. What? Oh, it's Pe — alo-glo, with
accent on the second syllable, I think. I
can't help wishing that our Constance had
married a man named Smith.

Edith M. P., Pennsylvania. — The
reason some gentlemen I know didn't go to
the Big Fight was because they got enough
of it at home — they said. "The Unfold-
ment," Florence Lawrence's return picture,
has not yet been released. "Home Stuff"
starred Viola Dana; "The Last Card," May
Allison. Milton Sills is married. He has a
daughter, Dorothy.

C. T., Oklahoma. — I am going to send
for that cast andjwill publish it under your
initials next month. Constance Talmadge
is married to John Pialoglo, who was born
in Greece, but who has been living in New
York City for some time. He is a tobacco
merchant; which is quite a profitable thing
to be. Pearl White is not married. Helene
Chadwick, Goldwyn. Hazel Daly is Tom
Moore's leading woman in his new picture.
Eddie Polo, Universal. Peggy O'Dare, his
former leading woman, married and retired
from the screen. I will let you know when
and if she comes back.

Olivet. — Elaine Hammerstein is her real
name. She is the granddaughter of Oscar
Hammerstein, who occupied a prominent
place in the American theater. Elaine is
not married, works in Fort Lee, and lives in
Manhattan. Henny Porten played Anne
Boleyn in "Deception." Edna Mayo has
apparently retired from the screen. She
has not made a picture for several years.

Every advertisement in rilOTOPI.AY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Questions and Answers

( Concluded)

C. T., Oklahoma. — I am going to send
for that cast and will publish it under your
initials next month. Constance Talmadge
is married to John Pialoglo, who was born
in Greece, but who has been living in New
York City for some time. He is a tobacco
merchant, which is quite a profitable thing
to be. Pearl White is married. Helene
Chadwick, (ioldwyn. Hazel Daly is Tom
Moore's leading woman in his new picture.
Eddie Polo, Universal. Peggy O'Dare, his
former leading woman, married and retired
from the screen. I will let you know when
and if she comes back.

II9

Juanita. — Edward Langford opposite
Elaine Hammerstein in "The Shadow of
Rosalie Byrnes." Address him care Whit-
man Bennett Studios, Yonkers, X. Y. He
was born in 1890 and I wouldn't be sur-
prised if he answered your letter.

Billie. — Here's a poser! Why is Tom
Meighan such a wonderful lover? Referred
to Mr. Meighan for answer. Tom's brother-
in-law, Cyril Ring, is to be in a picture for
Famous Players, I understand. Mrs. Meig-
han was Frances Ring before her marriage.

X. H., X. Y. — So you saw Tom Mix in
person. He's a great guy. I saw a lot of
Tom while he was in Xew York. Did you
see his horse, Tony? That nice little blonde
whom you saw with Tom was his wife,
Victoria Forde, and the older lady was
Eugenie Forde, Tom's mother-in-law in
name only. Victoria's mother is not a
comic section mamma by marriage. Every-
body likes her. Write again.

Bright Eyes, Phila. — What kind of
eyes has Mary Miles Minter? Very soulful
eyes, Fm sure. But if you mean their
color, Fll gladly answer blue. Katherine
MacDonald is her real name. Mary
MacLaren is really .Mary MacDonald.
Juanita Hansen has been ill, but I believe
she will soon return to the screen. A few
great men I could name are Aristotle,
Huxley, Solomon, Xewton, and Ben Turpin.
The most famous of these is undoubtedly
Ben. He has been made a star by Mack
Sennett. I have often envied Mr. Turpin
his wide vision. There is a Mrs. Turpin.
Katherine MacDonald hails from Pitts-
burgh.

Dolly D., Pasadena. — Service is not
servitude. I am the servant of all you
people, but I am not humble. It takes a
strong disposition to withstand all the rocks
and roses I get every month. Bert Lytell
was born in 1885; Wm. Scott in 1893.
Scott is going to marry Gladys Brockwell,
if he hasn't alreadv.

Miss M. D., Louisville. — You say you
did a lot of fishing this summer. I suppose
the fish were so greedy that you had to hide
behind a tree to bait your hook. Xazimova
weighs 125 lbs., although she doesn't look it.
She has not yet announced her future plans.
Her last picture for Metro was "Camille,"
in which Rudolph Valentino played Ar-
maud. Alia was born in 1879, but don't tell
a soul.

F. K., Geneva, Ohio. — David Graham
Phillips did not appear in "The Hungry
Heart," which starred Pauline Frederick.
David Graham Phillips has been dead for
some time. Howard Hall appeared opposite
Polly in that picture which was released in
Xovember, 1917. Xorma Talmadge in
"Regeneration Isle," "The Sign on the
Door," which is Actionized in the August
issue of Photoplay, and " Smilin' Through,"
an adaptation of Jane Cowl's play.

"A Regular Gibson Good Time"

There is fun every minute if you play a GIBSON.
Yes.you can learn to play at home in spare time with-
out previous musical knowledge— and you will enjoy
every minute for there is nodrudgeiy about learn-
ing to play a Gibson. In a short time you will be
playing whatever your music taste dictates,
from popular '"jazz" to the world's best music
— and from the outset there will be opened
up to you the music joys and the "regular
Gibson good t imes"known to every Gibsonite.

S*K

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Easy to Pay
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The ultimate in instrument construction — guaranteed for life.
Exclusive Gibson features such asStradivarius arching and gradua-
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quality, great volume, superb violin finish. America's leading
artists prefer Gibson instruments— and what a variety of instru-
ments to choose from. Each exquisite in design, finish and tone.
utt? Select your Gibson now. in a few months at theloneesr. you ran be doing
solo and ensemble playing to tbe delight of your friends and yourself

VI I M\V
Player Agents Wanted

Men and WoTnen, we help sell ! Territory
protected. Stock furnished. We pay ad-
vertising1. You make the profit. You pay for
grooda when sold: return goods not sold.
WRITE TODA Y.

$10.00 Down; $5.00 a
Month Buys a Gibson

On these liberal terms you may select
the instrument you want with a fine
carrying case. We will send it with
instruction book, pitch pipe, music
stand and booklet "How to Practice."
If yon have an old instrument we'll make
a liberal allowance on a Gibson. Wriie
today for ll^-pajre illustrated catalog.
Gibson bc-ok. Frre Trial Offer and in or-
mation about the instrument yon prefer.

Gibson Mandolin-Guitar Co.

469 Parsons St., Kalamazoo, Mich.
Gentlemen:— Without obliga'ion
send me r REE Book — complete
catalog, free treatise— also informa-
tion about your book "The Mandolin
Orchestra"and instrument checked.

If leacher check here [ ]
[] Mandolin [] Mandolin-Banjo
[ ] Mandela ] Mando-Cello

[] Guitar [] Tenor -Banjo

[] Olio-Banjo [] Guitar- Banjo
L ] Harp-Guitar [ ] Mando-Bass

GIBSON MANDOLIN-GUITAR COMPANY | Name...

469 Parsons Street Kalamazoo, Mich., U. S. A. • Address .

Be sjre you have checked intrument.

A RAILWAY

TRAFFIC INSPECTOR

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W-*,- t -J-— for 128-pace book, thousands of bargains. No
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Many opportunities for

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Buys

gfioo/

week or more, even in damp weathe
when perspiring. Stop burning hai
twisting with curlers. Ask your de
or send S2 for set of 6 mailed with full directions. WATER-
MAID WAVER CO., A-117 W. 7th St., Cincinnati, Ohio.

Ertp'el

"/\x\. Corners'^

tt .i '^No Paste Needed

USetneiTl to mount all kodak
pictures, post cards.clippings in albums

Made In Square. Round, Orai, Fancy and Heart
" black, gray, eepia, and red gummed paper.
... —em on corners of pictures, then wet and stick.
QOICK-EASY-ARTISTIC. No mass, no fuss. At photo
supply, drug and stat'y stores. Accept no substitutes;
there is nothing as good. 10c brines full pkg. and sample,
from ENGEL MGF. CO.. Dent. 70J . 4711 North Clark St.. CHICAGO

The season's low price level is reached
in our Fall Catalog. Hundreds of for-
mer offers reduced. Hundreds of new
offers at attractive prices.

GIVEN TO YOU

as a LARKIN FACr2ST0-SAVING

Picture this beautiful big Rocker in your
living-room ! By buying soaps, pure foods,
toilet preparations and other every-day house-
hold supplies direct from Larkin Factories or
through a Larkin Club, you can obtain this
inviting Rocker or other Premiums.

New Larkin Catalog FREE

Over 1 700 high-grade Larkin Premiums and 900 famous
Larkin Products — everything for homes and home-lovers,
all fully guaranteed — are illustrated in this big free book.
It tells you how to make the family income go farther.

ISMAIL COUPON TODAY

ILsfkia Co la. Buffalo, N. Y. Chicago, I1L Peoria, 1U.
Please send your new Fall Catalog No. 78

I Name

When jou write to advertisers please mention PHOTOrLAY ilAGAZlXE.

I 20

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Mellin's
Food

Kdw. H. Call an an '"'.An son ia, Conn.

All Mellin's Food
babies are conspicuous
by their fine, robust
appearance and happy
dispositions.

Write now and ask us to mail you

a copy of our book, "The Care

and Feeding of Infants. "

Mellin's Food Co., Boston, Mass.

,jm~^i

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

OMpeian powd/r

She seems the only one in the world to him. Her lovely color
enchants him — her beauty captivates. Best of all, she will always seem
young and girlish to him, for she has the secret of instant and per-
manent beauty. She uses a complete " Pompeian Beauty Toilette."

First, a touch of fragrant Pom-
peian DAY Cream ( vanishing >.
It softens the skin and holds the
powder. Then apply Pompeian
BEAUTY Powder. It makes the
skin beautifully fair and adds the
charm of delicate fragrance. Noiv
a touch of Pompeian BLOOM
for youthful color. Do you know
that a bit of color in the cheeks
makes the eyes sparkle with a
new beauty? Presto! The face is
beautified and youth-i-fied in an
instant! (Above 3 preparations
may be used separately or togeth-
er. At all druggists, 60c each.)

TRY NEW POWDER
SHADES. The correct powder

shade is more important than
the color of dress you wear. Our
new NATURELLE shade is a
more delicate tone than our Flesh
shade, and blends exquisitely with
a medium complexion. Our new
RACHEL shade is a rich cream
tone for brunettes. See offer on
coupon.

Pompeian BEAUTY Powder —
naturelle, rachel, flesh, white.
Pompeian BLOOM — light, dark,
medium. Pompeian MASSAGE
Cream (60c), for oily skins; Pom-
peian NIGHT Cream (50c), for
dry skins; Pompeian FRA-
GRANCE (30c), a talcum with a
real perfume odor.

'Absence Can Not
Hearts Divide"

Marguerite Clark Art Panel — 5 Samples Sent With It

"Absence Can Not Hearts Divide." In dainty colors. Size,
28 x 7 ' * inches. Price, 10c. Samples of Pompeian Dav Cream,
Powder and Bloom, Night Cream and Fragrance (a talcum pow-
der sent with the Art Panel. With these samples you can make
many interesting beauty experiments. Please tear off coupon now.

THE POMPEIAN CO., 2131 Payne Avenue, Cleveland, Ohio
Also Made in Canada

GUARANTEE

TEAR OFF NOW

To mail or for Pompeian shopping-bint in purse.

' THE POMPEIAN COMPANY

2131 Payne Avenue. Cleveland. Ohio

I Gentlemen: I enclose a dime for the 1921 Marguerite Clark
Panel. Also please send the 5 samples.

City.

=| Naturelle shade powder sent unless you write another below

THE secret of trim, lustrous ankles with many well'
dressed women is not a matter of what they pay
for their hose, but what kind they get.

More and more, women are discovering that Holeproof
Hosiery offers all the style, sheerness and lustrous beauty
that fashion demands, in combination with a fine'spun
strength that gives extraordinarily long service.

Leading stores are now showing the newest ideas in regu-
lar and fancy styles in Silk, Silk Faced, Silk and Wool,
Wool Mixtures and Lisles, for men, women and children

HOLEPROOF HOSIERY COMPANY, MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN

Holeproof Hosiery Company of Canada, Limited, London, Ont.

c Agnes
cAyres

Ua oJodette K^ompiete dune la)

ENTER Madame, Mademoiselle
— in Paris — le Cafe de la Paix,
L'Hotel Crillon, le Cafe des Ambas-
sadeurs! Regardez.! Assuredly one
sees here the most fashionable
women of all the world. And what
is the secret of the dressing hour
which lends to these demoiselles a
charm so individuel? Paris whispers
this magic of beauty to the ladies
of America:

In the toilette one shall use in each
spicialite the same delicate fragrance.
In the very words of Paris — "On
emploie une seule bonne odeur."

Thus does Madame choose Djer-
Kiss — si frangais, si chic, si complet!

For does not Djer-Kiss, in its special-
ites so varied, add the charme supreme
from the very beginning of the
toilette to the final touch of beauty.

Thus is Madame, and Mademoiselle
also, assured of the same enchant-
ing fragrance in each bewitching
toiletry. Thus does the French
charm of Djer-Kiss help to realize
I'ensemble si charmant.

If already you do not use them all,
these specialites de Djer-Kiss, will
you not add them all at once, tout
d'un coup, or little by little as you
may desire, to your toilet table and
your dressing hour? The charm
of the Parisienne will then be yours.

arisienne

Par exemple, Talc Djer-Kiss:

Soft as star-mist, fragrant as breezes
from Fairyland, is this pure French
talc. Madame, Mademoiselle will
discover for Djer-Kiss Talc so many,
many uses. With the other specialites
de Djer-Kiss, Face Powder, Perfume,
Rouge, Sachet, Toilet Water and
les Cr'emes, it adds youthful fresh-
ness and fragrance and so helps to
achieve that "unity of parfum"
which the fashion of Paris so
requires!

Special Sample Offer:

Send 20c and receive the dainty "Week-end
Specialty Box" containing serviceable samples of
Djer-Kiss extract, face powder, cold cream and
vanishing cream with dainty satin sachet. Address
Alfred H. Smith Co., 26 West 34th Street,
New York City.

EXTRACT • FACE POWDER • TALC • TOILET WATER • VEGETALE • SACHET • SOAP • ROUGE • COLD CREAM • VANISHING CREAM

These specialties. Rouge, Soap, Compacts and Creams temporarily blended here with pure cDjcr-Kits concentre imported from France

mU^My^

. l.lli> VI UL.V- 1 IVy-L^i

There's lasting satisfaction
in owning a Victrola

When the instrument you buy for your home is
a Victrola you have the satisfaction of knowing:

that it was specially made to play Victor

records; ^

that the greatest artists make their Victor
records to play on Victrola instruments;

that you hear these artists exactly as they
expected you to hear them, because
they themselves tested and approved
their own records on the Victrola.

Victrolas $25 to $1500. New Victor Records
demonstrated at all dealers in Victor products
on the 1st of each month.

"HIS MASTER'S VOICE"

This trademark and the irademarked
word "Victrola" identify all our products
Look under the lid! Look on the label!

VICTORTALKINGMACHINECO.

Camden, N. J.

Victor Talking Machine Co,, Camden, N. J.

. ,

s»

When you writs lo advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

supervised by (gsmopolitcin productions

■a-—. . - . _ — — -:-:- ::-:-- - ■■ ,r ■■ ■---■hi- ^*-^ - n ii i ■hi *

Marion Davies in Enchantment

IN "Enchantment," an enchanting photodrama, Marion Davies' exquisite natural acting
makes her more prominent than ever in the firmament of the screen stars.
"Enchantment" tells a story of that period in an attractive girl's life when she
boasts, in her diary, that she is irresistible. She knows she holds the same power to
enthrall men that enabled Cleopatra, Helen of Troy and Du Barry to make history. She
is a winsome, capricious trial to her family and her friends. Before she emerges from her

"attack" she makes history of the most interesting kind family history.

If you like a love story, if you like a comedy, if you are now or ever were a young
girl if you ever loved a young girl, "Enchantment" will delight you.

Directed by Robert C. Vignola, who directed "The Woman God Changed."

Story from Frank R. Adams' famous serial, "Manhandling Ethel," read by more
than two million people in Cosmopolitan Magazine.

Scenario by Luther Reed.

Scenery and settings by the Cosmopolitan Scenic Staff under the direction of
Joseph Urban.

For Early Release. Ask the manager of your favorite theatre to play this great picture.

?!A| •*• v

* * A » ** i* * A * -* t \ •, -\ \ «V*.. h *

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

The World's Leading Motion Picture Publication

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE

JAMES R. QUIRK, Editor

Vol. XX

No. 4

Contents

October, 192 1

Agnes Ay res

Editorial
(Photograph)

Cover Design

From a Pastel Portrait by Rolf Armstrong.

Rotogravure :

Pauline Starke Gladys Coburn

Betty Blythe Corinne Griffith

Marshall Neilan Norman Kerry

Shannon Day

Imagination

What Caligari Did to the Camera

Molly Malone a la Modernistic Photography
You Never Know Your Luck

A Typewritten Portrait of Alice Terry.

Motion Picture Statistics for 1920
So Everyone Can Understand Them.

She Doubles in Brass I

The Screen's Newest Woman Producer f

A White- Haired Child of Promise

A Highbrow Barnstormer

The Gray Brothers

Second of the new "Boston Blackie" Stories.

Illustrated by Lee Conrey

West Is East Delight Evans

Tom Mix and the Hayakawas — Informally.

A Portrait of Marilynn Miller
She Hasn't Been Filmed — Yet.

(Contents continued on next page)

19
20

Ralph Barton 21
22

25
Jack Boyle 26

30
31

Editorial Offices, 25 W. 45th St., New York City

Published monthly by the Photoplay Publishing Co.. 350 N. Clark St., Chicago, 111.

Edwin M. Colvin, Pres. James R. Quirk, Vice-Pres. R. M. Eastman, Sec.-Treas.

Entered as second-class matter April 24. 1912, at the Postoffice at Chicaec 111., under the Act oi March 3, 1879.

Photoplays Reviewed

in the Shadow Stage

This Issue

Save this magazine — refer to
the criticisms before you pick out
your evening's entertainment.
Make this your reference list.

Page 58

Forever Paramount

An Unwilling Hero Goldwyn

The Sign on the Door. . First Nat'l.

Little Italy Realart

The Northern Trail

Selig-Rork-Educat.
Page 59

Footlights : . Paramount

Among Those Present Pathe

Luring Lips Universal

The Inner Chamber Yitagraph

The March Hare Realart

Page 60

The Conquest of Canaan Paramount

Straight From Paris Equity

Short Skirts Universal

Lovetime. . . . Fox

Moonlight and Honeysuckle . Realart
Page 61

Cabiria A Revival

Life's Darn Funny Metro

Don 't Neglect Your Wife Goldwyn

The Kiss Universal

A Virgin Paradise Fox

F. %e 93

The Golden Snare . First National

A Heart to Let Realart

The Spirit of '76 All-American

Page 94

Such a Little Queen Realart

Mary Tudor World

Greater Than Love Associated Prod.

Moral Fibre Yitagraph

Singing River Fox

The Mystery Road

British Paramount

Hurricane Hutch Pathe

Danger Ahead Universal

Man Trackers Universal

The Man Who Metro

Crazy to Marry Paramount

Devotion Associated Prod.

Maid of the West Fox

The Sailors Fox

Copyrifch-., 1921, by the PHOTOPLAY PUBLISHING COMPANY, Chicago.

Contents — Continued

Through the Goldwyn Gate

Sketches from an Artist's Notebook.

Ralph Barton 32

Editorial Comment

Katherine MacDonald 39

Willard Huntington Wright
Joan Jordan

Close-Ups

Rotogravure:

Wallace Reid
Their Children
Mary Pick ford

How I Keep in Condition

Second of an Interesting Series.

Life in the Films

I— The Artistic Life.

A Rodeo Romeo

Buck Jones— a Cowboy Through and Through.

Our Animated News Bulletin
Photoplay Scoops Them All !

An Impression of Gloria Swanson

Drawing.

Fool's Paradise (Fiction) Gladys Hall

Told from the Photoplay.

What the Gentleman Should Wear "Fatty" Arbuckle
Fashion Hints — But Don't Take Them Too Seriously.

"Where Bill Lives" (Photographs)

The Reid Home in California.

Carmens

Anthology in Tableau Form.

"With Music By — " Frederick van Vranken

How the Screen and Music Have Merged.

Rotogravure:

Marie Prevost Gladys Walton

She Hasn't Changed a Bit! (Photographs)

Some Childhood Pictures of Betty Compson.

The Shadow Stage

Tabloid Reviews of the New Photoplays.

Here Are the Heralds of Fashion Carolyn Van Wyck
Announcing the Mode for Fall.

The Perfect Lie Frederic Arnold Kummer

A Contest Fiction Story. Illustrated by May Wilson Preston

Author! Author! (Photographs)

The Home and Family of Rupert Hughes.

Vamps of All Times Svetezar Tonjoroff

IV.— FRICCA.

Questions and Answers The Answer Man

Plays and Players

News from the Studios.

Why Do They Do It?

Finding the Flaws in the Filmplays.

Miss Van Wyck Says:

Answers to Questions on Fashions Subjects.

The Squirrel Cage

Nuts Queer, Interesting and Funny.

Those Eyes, Those Ears — Those Smile!
A Little Story About Bull Montana.

Movies of 1940?
A Forecast.

For the Purposes of Discussion
When Reformers Get Together.

Northern Lights

An Epic Established by the Films.

Cal. Yorke

34
35

42
43
44
45
49
50
52
54

58
62
64
68
72

A Gnutt 100

102

Lyne S. Metcalfe 113
Marion Clark 116

119

{Addresses of the Leading Motion Picture Producers appear on page 8)

What's the

Matter with

College

Women?

ARE women's colleges
ix "Old-Maid Facto-
ries?"

Do they turn out grad-
uates with the permanent
degree of P. U. ? (Passed
Up.)

Do their daughters all
look as though they have
been cut from the same
pattern? Are they prepared
for careers in which aca-
demic knowledge and
athletic aptitude, rather
thanpersonal charm, count ?

How many coliege grad-
uates could step into a
studio and register their
college training — prove, in
their close-ups, that they
had benefited by it in every
way — that they could bring
to the screen a poise, a
refinement, a sincerity that
it seldom sees?

PHOTOPLAY wanted
to know and decided to
find out.

You'll find the answer
in the November issue. A
very definite answer — for
PHOTOPLAY has scoured
the country and put into
its rotogravure section four
pages of portraits of college
beauties — east and west.

ORDER YOUR
NOVEMBER
COPY NOW

Why I Cried
After the Ceremony

Two whole months I planned for my wed-
ding day. It was to be an elaborate church
affair, with arches, bridesmaids and sweet
little flower-girls. Bob wanted a simple
ceremony — but I insisted on a church wed-
ding.

"We are only married once, you know," I
laughed. "And oh, Bob," I whispered,
nestling closer, "it will be the happiest day
of my life."

Gaily I planned for that happy day and
proudly I fondled the shimmering folds of
my wedding gown. There were flowers to
be ordered, music to be selected and cards
to be sent. Each moment was crowded
with anticipations. Oh, if I could have only
known then the dark cloud that over-
shadowed my happiness!

At last the glorious day of my marriage
arrived. The excitement fanned the spark
of my happiness into glowing and I thrilled
with a joy that I had never known before.
My wedding day! The happiest day of my
life! I just knew that I would remember it
forever.

A Day I Will Remember
Forever

How can I describe to you the beauty of the church
scene as I found it when I arrived? Huge wreaths
of flowers swung in graceful fragrance from the
ceiling to wall. Each pew boasted its cluster of
lilies, and the altar was a mass of many-hued blos-
soms. The bridesmaids, in their flowing white gowns,
seemed almost unreal, and the little flower-girls
looked like tiny fairies as they scattered flowers along
the carpeted aisle. It was superb! I firmly be-
lieved that there was nothing left in all the world to
wish for. The organist received the cue, and with a
low, deep chord the mellow strains of the triumphant
wedding march began.

Perhaps it was the beauty of the scene. Perhaps
it was the strains of the wedding march. Perhaps it
was my overwhelming happiness. At any rate, the
days of rehearsal and planning vanished in a blur of
happy forgetfulness, and before I realized what I was
doing. I had made an awful blunder. I had made a
mistake right at the beginning of the wedding march,
despite the weeks of careful preparation and the days
of strict rehearsal!

One Little Mistake — and
My Joy is Ended

Some one giggled, I noticed that the clergyman
raised his brows ever so slightly. The sudden realiza-
tion of the terrible blunder I was making caused a
pang of regret that I had not read up, somewhere,
about the blunders to be avoided at wedding cere-
monies. A hot blush of humiliation surged over me —
and with crimson face and trembling lip I began the
march all over again.

It all happened so suddenly. In a moment it was
over. And yet that blunder had spoiled my wedding
dayl Every one had noticed it; they couldn't help
noticing it. All my rehearsing had been in vain, and
the event that 1 had hoped would be the crowning
glory of my life, proved a miserable failure.

Of course all my friends told me how pretty I
looked, and the guests proclaimed my wedding a
tremendous success. But deep down in my heart I
knew that they did not mean it — they could not
mean it. I had broken one of the fundamental laws
of wedding etiquette and they would never forget it.
After the ceremony that evening I cried as though my
heart would break — and, incidentally, I reproached
myself for not knowing better.

I Buy a Book of
Etiquette

After the wedding there were cards of thanks and
"at home" cards to be-.sent. The wedding breakfast
had to be arranged and our honeymoon trip planned.
I determined to avoid any further blunders and so I
sent for the famous " Book of Etiquette."

Bob and I had always prided ourselves on being
cultured and well-bred. We had always believed that
we followed the conventions of society to the highest
letter of its law. But, oh, the serious breaches of
etiquette we were making almost every day!

Why, after reading only five pages I discovered
that I actually did not know how to introduce people
correctly! I didn't know whether to say: Mrs.
Brown, meet Aliss Smith; or Miss Smith, meet Mrs.
Brown. I didn't know whether to say, Bobby, this is
Mr. Blank; or Mr. Blank, this is Bobby. I didn't
know whether it were proper for me to shake hands
with a gentleman upon being introduced to him,
and whether it were proper for me to stand or
remain seated. I discovered, in fact, that to be
able to establish an immediate and friendly under-
standing between two people who have never met
before, to make conversation flow
smoothly and pleasantly, is an art in
itself. Every day people judge us by
the way we make and acknowledge
introductions.

Blunders in

Etiquette at

the Dance

Bob glanced over the chapter
called Etiquette at the Dance.
"Why, dear," he exclaimed, "I never
knew how to dispose of my dancing
partner and return to you without
appearing rude! — and here it s all ex-
plained so simply." We read the
chapter together, Bob and I, and we
found out the correct way to ask a
lady to dance* and the polite and
courteous way for her to refuse it.
We found out how to avoid that
awkward moment after the music
ceases and the gentleman must leave
the lady to return to his original
partner. We even discovered the
correct thing for a young girl to do if
she is not asked to dance.

"We will find invaluable aid in our 'Book of Eti-
quette,' " I said to Bob. "It tells us just what to do,
what to say, what to write and what to wear at all
times. And there are two chapters, I see, on foreign
countries that tell all about tips, dress, calling
cards, correspondence, addressing royalty and ad-
dressing clergy abroad. Why, look, Bob, it even
tells about the dinner etiquette in France, England
and Germany. And see, here is a chapter on wedding
etiquette — the very mistake I made is pointed out!
Oh, Bob, if I had only had this wonderful book, I
never would have made that blunder!"

My Advice to Young
Men and Women

The world is a harsh judge. To be admitted to
society, to enjoy the company of brilliant minds, and
to win admiration and respect for oneself, it is
essential for the woman to cultivate charm, and for
the man to be polished, impressive. And only by
following the laws of etiquette is it possible for the
woman to be charming and the man to be what the
world loves to call a gentleman.

I would rather lose a thousand dollars than live
through that awful moment of my wedding again.
Even now, when I think of it, I blush. And so, my
advice to young men and women who desire to be
cultured rather than coarse, who desire to impress
by their delicacy of taste and breeding, is — "send
for the splendid two-volume set of the Book of Etiquette."

Send for it that you may know the correct thing to
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may know the proper way to remove fruit stones
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for it, in short, that you may be always, at all times,
cultured. ..well-bred and refined; that you may do
and say and write and wear onlv what is in the best
of form and utterly in accord with the art of etiquette.

'Before I realized what
I was doing, I had
started the wedding
march with an awful
blunder in Etiquette."

Book of Etiquette

In Two Comprehensive Volumes

Sent FREE for Five Days

The Book of Etiquette is excellent in quality,
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It comes to you as a guide, a revelation toward better
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For a short time only the complete two volume set
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The coupon below entitles you to a 5 davi ' FREE
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Send for your set of The Book today! Surprise
your frieftds with your knowledge of the correct
thing to do, say, write and wear at all times. Just
mail the coupon — don't send any money. Nelson
Doubleday, Inc., Dept. 7710, Oyster Bay, New York.

| N ELS O N DOUBLED A Win"

Dept. 7710, Oyster Bay, New York

■ Gentlemen:

You mav send me the complete two-volume set

• of The Book of Etiquette. Within 5 days after
S receipt I will either return the books or send you

■ $3.50 in full payment. This places me under no

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■
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S Name.

(Please print name and address)

Address.

■ Thehenvtiful feather Kiuiinf) i* l'a-r more attractive and route

■ bat little more. For a net in that bindinq change above price j'rom
I S3. SO tots. 50.

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

' Lxjtri^.s. i

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-JT.L/ ^ XLfl 1101i>U OCi^AlVA'N

Mae Murray and David Powell in George Fitzmaurice*a Paramount
Picture, " Idols of Clay"

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City and State L

Studio Directory

ASSOCIATED PRODUCERS, INC.,
729 Seventh Ave., N. Y.

(s) Maurice Tourneur, Culver City, Cal.
is) Thos. H. Incc, Culver City, Cal.

J. Parker Read, Jr., Ince Studios, Cul-
ver City, Cal.
(s) Mack Sennett, Edendale, Cal.
(s) Marshall Neilan, Goldwyn Studios,

Culver City, Cal.

(s) Allan Dwan, Hollywood Studios, 6642

Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.

(s)King Vidor Productions, 7200 Santa

Monica Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.

BLACKTON PRODUCTIONS, INC., Bush

House, Aldwych, Strand, London, England.
ROBERT BRUNTON STUDIOS, S300 Melrose

Ave., Hollywood, Cal.
CHRISTIE FILM CORP., 6101 Sunset Blvd.,

Hollywood, Cal.
EDUCATIONAL FILMS CORP., of America.

370 Seventh Ave.. N. Y. C.
FAMOUS- PLAYERS- LASKY CORP., Para-
mount, 485 Fiftli Ave.. New York City.
(s) Pierce Ave. and Sixth St., Long Island

City, New York.
(s)Lasky, Hollywood, Cal.

British Paramount (s) Poole St., Islington,

N. London, England.
Realart. 469 Fifth Ave, New York City.
(s)211 N. Occidental Blvd., Los Angeles, Cal.

FIRST NATIONAL EXHIBITORS' CIRCUIT.
INC., 6 West 48th St., New York;
R. A. Walsh Prod.,

5341 Melrose Ave., Hollywood, Cal.
Mr. and Mrs. Carter De Haven, Prod.,
Louis B. Mayer Studios, Los Angeles.
Anita -Stewart Co., 3800 Mission Road,

Los Angeles, Cal.
Louis B. Mayer Productions, 3800 Mission

Road, Los Angeles Cal.
Norma and Constance Talmadge Studio,

318 East 48th St., New York.
Katherine MacDonald .Productions,
Georgia and Girard Sts., Los Angeles,
Cal.
David M. Hartford, Prod.,

3274 West 6th St., Los Angeles, Cal.
Hope Hampton, Prod., Peerless Studios,
Fort Lee, N. J.
(s) Chas. Ray, 1428 Fleming St., Los Angeles.
FOX FILM CORP., (s) 10th Ave. and S5th St.,
New York; (s) 1401 Western Ave., Hollywood,
Cal.
GARSON STUDIOS, INC., (s)1845 Alessandro.

St., Edendale, Cal.
GOLDWYN FILM CORP., 469 Fifth Ave.. New

York; Is) Culver City, Cal.
HAMPTON. JESSE B., STUDIOS, 1425 Flem-
ing St., Hollywood, Cal.
HART, WM. S. PRODUCTIONS, (s) 1215

Bates St.. Hollywood. Cal.
HOLLYWOOD STUDIOS, 6642 Santa Monica

Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.
INTERNATIONAL FILMS. INC., 729 Seventh
Ave.. N. Y. C. (s) Second Ave. and 127th
St.. N. Y.
METRO PICTURES CORP., 1476 Broadway,
New York; (s) 3 West 61st St., New York,
and 1025 Lillian Way, Hollywood, Cal.
PATHE EXCHANGE. Pathe Bldg.. 35 W. 45th
St., New York. (s)Geo. B. Seitz, 134th St.
and Park Ave., New York City.
ROBERTSON-COLE PRODUCTIONS, 723
Seventh Ave., New York; Currier Bldg., Los
Angeles; (s) corner Gower and Melrose Sts.,
Hollywood. Cal.
ROTHACKER FILM MFG. CO.. 1339 Diversey

Parkway, Chicago, 111.
SELZNICK PICTURES CORP., 729 Seventh
Ave., New York; (s) 807 East 175th St., New
York, and West Fort Lee, N. J.
UNITED ARTISTS CORPORATION, 729
Seventh Ave., New York.

Mary Pickford Co., Brunton Studios,
Hollywood, Cal.; Douglas Fairbanks
Studios, Hollywood, Cal.; Charles Chaplin
Studios, 1416 LaBrea Ave.; Hollywood,

Cal.
D. W. Griffich Studios, Orienta Point,

Mamaroneck, N. Y.
George Arliss Prod., Whitman Bennett
Studio, 537 Riverdale Ave., Yonkers,
New York.
UNIVERSAL FILM MFG. CO., 1600 Broad-
way, New York; (s) Universal City, Cal.
VITAGRAPH COMPANY OF AMERICA,
469 Fifth Ave., New York; (s) East 15th St.
and Locust Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y., and
1708 Talmadge St., Hollywood, Cal.

HIGH SCHOOL

COURSE IN
TWO YEARS

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before he had weighed 205
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The Secret Ex-

plained

Everyone knows that food
causes fat. But why do some
people become fat and others
remain thin? Why may thin
people eat whatever they
please without seeming to
gain an ounce, while fat people
who deny themselves the foods
they would like to eat, con-
tinue to put on flesh? Special-
ists realized that there must
be some vital, natural law of
food upon which the whole
secret of weight control is
based.

It was to discover this secret
that Eugene Christian, the
world's foremost food special-
ist, began his remarkable
experiments. For a long time

Read What Others Say:

13 Pounds Less in 8 Days

"Hurrah! I have lost 13 pounds
since last Monday (8 days), and am
feeling fine. I used to lie in bed an
hour or so before I could go to sleep,
but I go to sleep now as soon as I lie
down, and I can sleep from eight to
nine hours. Before I began losing
weight I could not take much exercise,
but now I can walk four or five miles a
day. I feel better than I have for
months."

Mrs. , New York City.

Loses 40 Pounds

" It is with great pleasure that I am
able to assure you that the Course on
Weight Control proved absolutely
satisfactory. I lost forty pounds."

Mrs. , Glens Falls, N. Y.

20 Pounds Lighter

"Eugene Christian's Course has
done for me just what it said it would
do. I reduced twenty pounds. . . .
I will need to recuce some more, and
with the directions of the Course I can
do that as fast or as slow as I desire.
Many thanks for your interest and the
Course."

Mr. , Detroit, Mich.

100 Per Cent. Improvement

"Weighed 216 pounds when I
started, and today I weigh 153
pounds. I can safely say that I fee 1
100 per cent, better than I did when
I was fat, and I am sure that I look
much better also."

Mrs. , Ryder, North Dakota.

Weighs 34 Pounds Less

"I reduced from 207 to 173 pounds
i n three months without the slightest
inconvenience, and still retain this
weight by following your course.
It's a godsend to people who suffer
from corpulency."

Mrs. — , Palestine, Texas.

Lost 25 Pounds

" I have found your Course in
Weight Control very satisfactory.
Have lost twenty-five pounds in
weight, and expect to lose a few more
i n order to bring my weight down to
normal."

Mrs. ■ — , Tacoma. Washington.

Reduces 6 Pounds m One Week

"The first week I lost six pounds."

Mrs. , Keokuk, Iowa.

481/2 Pounds Taken Off

"After studying the lessons care-
fully I began to apply them to myself,
and as proof of results will say that I
lost just 48 J2 pounds."

Mrs. , Colville, Washington.

the secret remained hidden, because of its very
simplicity, but now that Christian has made his
important discovery, it exceeds even his greatest
hopes. He discovered that certain foods, when
eaten together, take off weight instead of adding
to it! Certain food combinations cause fat; others
consume fat. If you eat certain kinds of foods to-
gether at the same meal, they are converted into
fat in the body. But if you eat these very same
two foods at different times, they are converted
into blood and muscle, and the fat you already
have is used up in energy!

Eat Off Flesh by New Method

And now people are actually eating off
weight! Men who were formerly so stout
that they puffed when they walked quickly,
men who had to deny themselves many
pleasures because of their burdensome flesh,
report that their return to normal weight and
youthful energy was amazingly rapid. Stout
women who always felt tired and listless, vho had to
deny themselves the colorful, fluffy clothes they would
like to wear, marvel that this one simple little rule should
enable them to attain their ideal weight so quickly. And
not only have they eaten down to normal, but they
enjoy their meals more than ever before, they feel re-
freshed, brightened, strengthened.

A delighted woman writes: " I now weigh 137 pounds —
just what I should weigh. I feel
so splendid, and every one says
how 'just right' I am."

Remember, you don't have to
starve yourself, or follow a rigid
diet, or put yourself to any dis-
comfort, through this new method
of flesh reduction. You eat off
the fat you want to lose: eat it off
as quickly or as slowly as you
wish. You control your weight
just as you control your speech
or the pace at which you walk.

Weight Control the
Basis of Health

Eugene Christian has incorpor-
ated his remarkable food revela-
tions inl2 simplclessons which he
calls " Weight Control — the Basis
of Health." And to enable every-
one, everywhere, to profit by his
valuable discovery, he offers to
send his complete course on trial
to anyone sending for it.

You have always wanted to re-
duce weight, to attain the ideal
weight for your height. Here is
your opportunity to prove to
yourself that you can do it, and
without discomfort, without de-
nials or sacrifices! Here is your
opportunity to take off just as
much flesh as you wish, and yet
eat delicious foods, many of which
you may now be denying your-
self. And it need not cost you
one cent to make the test.

No Money in
Advance

Just put your name and ad-
dress on the coupon to the right.
Don't send any money. The
coupon alone will bring Eugene
Christian's complete course to
your door, where SI. 97 (plus
postage) paid to the postman
will make it your property. with
the understanding that if it
doesn't do all we claim or you are
not fully satisfied in every way.
you may return the course within
five days and your money will be
1 nstantly refunded.

As soon as the course arrives,
weigh yourself. Then glance
through the lessons carefully, and
read all about the startling revela-
tions regarding weight, food and
health. Now make up your
mind as to how much weight you
want to lose the first week, and
each week following. Then put
the course to the test. Try the
first lesson. Weigh yourself the
very next day or so and notice

Everyone Can Now Have the Attractive Grace

of a Slender Figure Through the New

Discovery of Science.

the marked result. Still, you've taken no medicines,
put yourself to no hardships, done almost nothing you
would not ordinarily have done. You'll be as happily
surprised as are the thousands of others who are quickly
regaining normal, beautiful figures in this new scientific
way.

Mail the coupon NOW.

No money — just the coupon. As we shall receive an
avalanche of orders for this remarkable course, it will be
wise to send your order at once. Some will have to be
disappointed. Don't wait to lose weight, but mail the
coupon NOW and profit immediately by Eugene Chris-
tian's wonderful discovery. The Course will be sent in a
plain container.

CORRECTIVE EATING SOCIETY, Inc.

Dept. W-20810, 43 West 16:h St., New York City

CORRECTIVE EATING SOCIETY, Inc.,

Dept. W-20810, 43 West 16th St., New York City.

You may send me prepaid, in plain container, Eugene
Christian's Course. " Weight Control — the Basis of
Health," complete in 12 lessons. I will pay the postman
only SI. 97 (plus postage) in full payment on arrival, but
I am to have the privilege of returning the course after
a 5 day trial and have my money refunded, it I am not
entirely satisfied.

Name.

(Please write plainly)

Street Address

City State

Price Outside U. S. S2.15. Cash with Order

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

[ 1.U * UL\ A 101i> \J UDt- 1 L\JVi

"J Skin You Love
to Touch" by
F. Graham Cootes,

\ou,too,can have the charm

of CA SJqn You Jjove Co Touch "

IF YOUR skin is not just what you want
it to be — if it lacks freshness and charm
— do not let this fact discourage you.

Remember — every day your skin is chang-
ing. Each day old skin dies and new takes
its place. This is your opportunity!

By giving this new skin the special treat-
ment suited to its needs, you can gain the
clear, smooth, attractive complexion you
long for.

SKINS differ widely — and each type of
skin should have the special treatment
that meets its special needs. Treatments for
all the different types of skin are given in the
booklet of famous skin treatments that is

wrapped around every cake of Woodbury's
Facial Soap.

Get a cake of Woodbury's today and learn
from this booklet just the right treatment
for your skin. Begin using it tonight.

USE Woodbury's regularly in your toilet
to keep your skin in the best possible
condition. The same qualities that give
Woodbury's its beneficial effect in over-
coming common skin troubles make it ideal 1
for general use.

A 25 cent cake of Woodbury's lasts a
month or six weeks for general toilet use,
including any of the special Woodbury
treatments. The Andrcv Jergens Co.,
Cincinnati, New York and Perth, Ontario.

Copvriaht. 1921. by The Andrew Jerge

Every advertisement in. PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Alfred Cheney Johnston

CWEET sobber of the celluloid: Pauline Starke, seen here in a more care-free
iJ moment. Poor Pauline has wept her heart out in many pictures, but she man-
ages to remember how to smile. She has ju<t returned to the California studios

Alfred Cheney Johnston

^^TE WISH Betty Blythe would pose for a whole gallery of famous ladies of his-
tory. She has the subtle power to project herself into ancient ages and bring
back their fairest women to our silversheet. Facts : she's Mrs. (Director; Paul Scardon.

Alfred Cheney Johnston

FT DOESN'T make much difference what we write under this new portrait of
■*■ Corinne Griffith. You're so busy looking at that lovely languorous lady with
her mysterious, eyes and her Lucile kimona. you won't have time to read the caption.

Alfred Cheney Johnston

l^ORMAN KERRY is a lot more enthusiastic about golf than you'd think. The
^ ^ photographer made him look like this. Mr. Kerry is adding another volume to
his life work, "Beautiful Women Who Have Loved Me — On the Screen, of Course."

\ If red Cheney Johnston

SHANNON DAY The only commonplace thing about her is the fact that she
^ came from the Follies to the films. She's lending her Irish presence, out in Holly-
wood, to pictures directed by the deMilles. Miss Day is an ingenue in age only

jlctuiil photograph of tun.
quoitt blut silk nutaU* aft«y
a season */ zo*ar and /5
washings -with Ivory Flaktr
StaUment of original own
$* on file tn tht Procter *
Gambit offitts.

lb washings — yet this blue silk sweater is like new!

To Wash Silk Sweaters

If the color is not fast, set it before
washing. Place 1 or 2 tablespoonfuis
of Ivory Flakes in bowl and add a
quart of boiling water. Work up
suds, then add three quarts of cold
water. Drop sweater into suds and
squeeze suds gently through the fabric
with the hands. Do not lift harmful
from the water and do not rub. Put
a towel under the sweater to lift it from
the suds. Rinse gently in three waters
of same temperature as suds. Always
use a towel in taking garment from one
water to another. Place between
cloths and run through loosely ad justed
wringer. Lay flat on thick towelB
in shade and pull into shape for drying.
Turn frequently. Press with iron
barely warm.

Send for Free Sample

with complete directions for the easy
care of delicate garments that you
would be afraid to wash the ordinary
way. Address Section 45-JF. Depart-
ment of Home Economics. The Proc-
ter ,t Gamble Company, Cincinnati.
Ohio.

The sweater in the picture was photo-
graphed after a season's wear and 15
launderings. It is as lustrous, shapely
and colorful as new and there is not
even one break in the delicate open-
work mesh of the weave. It shows
that it is possible to keep knitted outer-
wear as clean and attractive as ordinary
wash fabrics.

The owner attributes the present beau-
ty of the sweater — and her success in
washing other silks — to Ivory Soap
Flakes.

Ivory Flakes makes such thick suds
that you do not have to rub the gar-

ment; it is cleansed just by soaking and
swishing it in the bubbling foam. And,
no matter how often the garment is
washed with Ivory Flakes, it shows no
sign of wear from the soap, because
Ivory Flakes is genuine Ivory Soap in
flake form and cannot injure any fabric
that water alone does not harm.

To keep your sweaters, blouses, silk
lingerie and all other fine garments as
beautiful as new, and to make them
last the longest possible time, use Ivory
Flakes. Send for the free sample and
directions offered at the left and see
for yourself how Ivory Flakes works.

IVORYsoap FLAKES

Makes pretty clothes last longer

cUhe World's Leading Moving (Pi&ure C^/Lagazine

PHOTOPLAY

Vol. xx

October, 1921

No. 5

Inn agination

JMAGINATION is the torch which has guided men down the dim. paths of the ages. It
has ever been the supreme force in the onward gropings of the human race. Imagination
has created the dream of progress. It has fashioned and built the world. It has penetrated
the hidden secrets of life, and unearthed the glories of inanimate things.

Imagination has given us the enduring beauty of great art, the inspiring splendor of great
achievements. In all human aspiration — from the lowliest task to the most majestic enterprise —
imagination is the mainspring of success. When the imagination fails, the germs of death
and decay creep in.

Often it happens that the brain of man grows tired and complacent; it succumbs to fatigue
and laissez faire. And then it is that the mind becomes merely a capable mechanism, per-
forming automatically the tasks to which it long has been accustomed. Man becomes a machine
— the imagination, which is the vitalizing spirit of endeavor, has ceased to function.

This apathy is the normal reaction to strain. The mind, like the body, wears down; it
loses its resiliency, and weariness sets in. We call it "going stale."

After years of tireless effort and activity the makers of motion pictures have begun to "go
stale." Their elan and enthusiasm have diminished. Pictures have become too formal, too
orthodox. They follow too severely the paths of tradition; they adhere too closely to the standards
of the past.

What motion-picture production needs today is an infiltration of new blood — new thoughts,
new dreams, new ideas, new points of view — in short, a new imagination.

It is true that the motion-picture industry has drawn into its ranks many eminent authors
and playwrights; and while these men and women have accomplished much that has been signifi-
cant and worth-while, they have failed to revivify the art of the films as it might have been
revivified. Their very popularity in the world of letters — the fact that they were so widely
accepted by the public — was, to a certain extent, an argument against their originality and the
freshness of their imagination.

On the other hand, there are in America many young creative men, rich in experimental
ideas and unspoiled by tradition, who are untrammelled by the demands of a conventional
popular following, and who are striving earnestly for a new ideal, for an original means of
expression, for a more compelling method of bodying forth their dreams. They are the true
harbingers of progress — the apostles of the great neiv movement in all branches of human thought
and activity, which is sweeping over the world today.

These are the men whom the motion pictures need, for these are the men who symbolize
imagination.

Imagination!

Without it no enterprise, no work of art, can live for long, for without it the soul of achieve-
ment is lacking.

What Caligari Did to the Camera

MODERN" art is perhaps the least misleading term for tke effort that, for the last half century, a certain now
world-famous group of painters has been making to save painting from becoming photographic. These painters
have succeeded so well that the camera, finding itself spurned by art, turned about and began imitating painting
with the astonishingly successful results to be found in photoplays of the "Cabinet of Dr. Caligari type and in the work
of a great many photographers. The above impressionistic— or shall we stick to our story and call it modern,
photograph of Molly Malone was made by Clarence Sinclair Bull at the Goldwyn Studios in Culver City.

YOU NEVER KNOW YOUR LUCK

Photoplay's artist changes his medium and
paints a delightful picture with words.

By
RALPH BARTON

The most insignificant figure in the above group is Alice Terry — one
of the extras in an old Triangle production starring Dorothy Dalton.

IT was my first trip ro California and I was disappointed.
I saw no flowers and no trees except occasional groups
of palms and eucalyptus. Even after we had reached
Los Angeles I thought we were still in the desert. The
fantastic, squatty bungalows
— miles of them — depressed
me. The climate was wretch-
ed— four seasons every day:
spring in the morning, sum-
mer at noon, fall in the even-
ing and winter at night. I
looked forward to a long siege
of nostalgia and bronchitis.

And then I met Alice Tern7!

Now I rave about Califor-
nia like a Native Son.

You have seen her, of
course, and know what I
mean. Before you saw her
you believed yourself safely
beyond the Sentimental Age.
You felt that you could never
again revert to that youthful
emotional state when you con-
templated suicide because the
leading lady of the local stock
company had married the
stage-manager, and when you
clipped photographs of Lillian
Russell from magazines and
gazed surreptitiously at them
during the algebra lesson. The
first thousand feet of the pic-
ture in which you first saw
Miss Terry melted the snows
that had drifted round your
cardiac plexus since Com-
mencement Day, and the last
thousand feet rendered you
fifteen and maudlin.

Moreover, Alice Terry can
act — she is what they call in
Hollywood "a great little
trooper" — but it is not alto-
gether her acting which car-
ries you back to your high
school days and makes you
long to embrace another Hope-
less Love. It is the way in
which she unconsciously pro-
jects her adorable weakness
and appealing femininity from
the screen into every corner of
the house. As you watch her
you feel that here is a woman
who does not particularly
want to vote, or box, or be

Alice Terry, present day, one
in the films, as Eugenie Grande

an aviator, or join a Reform society, or dominate her hus-
band. Her sex appeal is a wholesome and natural one, and
yet vastly stronger than that of the dear departed Vampires;
and her sweetness is more alluring and infinitely less cloying

than that of the Pollyannas.
She makes the men in her au-
diences feel as romantic as
they did when they first read
the King Arthur tales, and
there is not a woman in the
house who would balk at in-
troducing her to friend hus-
band.

I met California and Alice
the same afternoon. Neither
of them tallied with my pre-
conceived ideas. But whereas
California fell far short of the
Californians' descriptions of
it, Alice proved far lovelier
than the cool, blonde, worried
Marguerite Laurier of "The
Four Horsemen," whom I
expected to see in Hollywood.
She had the poise of a patri-
cian and the modesty of a
Maud Muller. Her coloring
was exquisite, and of the Dres-
den-doll, pink-and-white to-
nality. Her dancing blue eyes
and the mobile corners of her
small, sensitive mouth indi-
cated the presence of a bub-
bling sense of humor. Her
voice, almost contralto, made
her pronounced Middle-West-
ern accent seem smooth and
melodious.

But the thing which startled
me the most — which, in fact,
almost dumfounded me — was
her hair. It was red-brown
and very dark!

The}' had gilded the lily!
Marguerite Laurier's golden
hair had been a wig!

I couldn't forgive them and
demanded to know who was
responsible. Rex Ingram gave
reasons for the change — ■
good reasons, I suppose, since
they came from him — and
yet there she stood before
me twice as lovely in her
own hair. I shall never be
convinced that the wig was
{Continued on page 97)

of the most significant figures
t in "The Conquering Power."

MOTION PICTURE STATISTICS FOR 1920

(With apologies to "Scientific American")

DUE to the tremendous progress and growth of the motion picture in-
dustry, all information heretofore concerning the films has been too
general; it has lacked accuracy and mathematical precision. Therefore, for
the benefit of historians and scientists, we present herewith, accompanied by
illustrations, all the vital and important facts connected with motion picture
production for the year 1920. — Editor.

If all the lorgnettes with
which society matrons
of the 1920 films
haughtily inspected
persons to whom they
were introduced, were
amalgamated into two
lorgnettes and placed
together, they would
form an arch sufficient-
ly large to permit the
passage of a load of
hay.

The combined weight of the
metal cigarette cases carried
during 1920 by fashionable
leading men in the lower
right-hand westcoat pocket
would be equal to that of
Trinity Church.

The united force of all the kittenish back-kicks
given in 1920 by film ingenues when greeting
people would be sufficient to heave a bale of hay,
weighing one and a half tons, over the Wool-
worth building.

The total distance covered by chases in the comedy

films of 1920 was 247,816 miles, or the approximate

distance between the earth and the moon.

If all the curls of the 1920
screen ingenues were
made into a single volute,
they would form a hirsute
tunnel large enough to
engulf a seven-coach pas-
senger train.

19>a© ■= ®S><S <£al!ll<n?iras

Comparative pictures showing the marked increase in the
amount of hair salve used by cinema actors (male) during the
past six years. (The figures include vaseline, pomade, bear-
grease, gelatine and all the various unguents for making the
hair sleek and glossy.)

If all the jovial slaps on the back which took
place in the gentlemen s clubs of the 1920 so-
ciety films were concentrated into a single unit
of energy the force of the combustion would be
sufficient to fire a twelve-pound cannon ball
from New York to San Francisco.

The amount of tears shed in the close-ups of leading

ladies during 1920 would be sufficient to extinguish the

conflagration of a three-story dwelling.

The number of errors in spelling
and grammar appearing in the
sub-titles of 1920, as compared
with the number of errors in the
complete works of Ring Lardner.

If all the heavy black cigars which
financiers and plain-clothes officers
chewed and rolled about in the
corners of their mouths to denote
will power and strength of character
were merged into one cigar, it would
be 554 feet long, or
approximately the
height of the Wash-
ington Monument.

Comparative figures showing
the number of 1920 film con-
victs who were innocent
( having been unjustly com-
demned or preferring to
serve time in order to shield
another), and the number
who were actually guilty of
some crime.

yoNKEKS

|NNO(2ENT

The amount of energy expended in 1920 by wealthy villains in

luring pure and innocent working-girls to their luxurious bachelor

apartments would be sufficient to hoist the New York Public

Library thirty-one feet from its foundation.

A©E

@uii_xy

If all the waxed
moustaches of so-
ciety villains in the
pictures of 1920
were placed end to
end, they would
reach from W all
street to Yonkers,
with enough hair
left over to stuff
eight sofa pillows.

ASE -78

The lingering fade-out kisses used as
climaxes in the 1920 nlm dramas would,
if fused into one sustained osculation, last
72 years. That is to say, if a couple should
begin this composite caress at the age of
six, they would be 78 at the break-away.

STOLEN FROA\
LlgRARY SAFES

©ER/ttANY'S

NATIONAL

DEBT

U.S.NAT'L
, DEBT

ENGLAND'S MATRONAL
N AT! ON A L nFRT

DEBT

The amount of money stolen from private-library safes in the

screen dramas for 1920, compared with the present national

debt of Germany, of England, of France, and of the United

States.

l/M(2HELAN6ELO

I LEONARDO
I RUBENS
IVELASOUEZ.
IRE/X\BRANDT
"^^■^^^^^^■■■■■■■THE FASTER,"

The relative amount of "great artistic tri-
umphs and supreme masterpieces pro-

duced by D. W. Griffith, and by Rembrandt,
Rubens, Velasquez, Leonardo and Michel-
angelo.

VA,OftPII?ES
527

Block pyramid of
the principle ingre-
dients of motion
picture plots, show-
ing both the exact
and the relative
number of times
they were used in
the photoplays of

1920.

OgeULATORy FINALES -(fade-outs)

ana

Helen Ray, the continuity clerk who plays Intoxication
in "Experience.

SHE DOUBLES IN BRASS

THERE'S nothing like versatility.
There used to be a man out in Montana who ran a
pantatorium during the day and engineered a flourishing
hot peanut and buttered popcorn wagon on the Main street
at night.

Six months ago Helen Ray decided that she would much
rather possess a job than to stay home and help mother with
the dishes or sew on fugitive buttons for big brothers.

Helen lives in Brooklyn and a mile away shines the dazzling
facade of the Famous Players-Lasky studio. So Miss Ray
decided that she might manage to obtain employment in the
big studio.

She went in and demonstrated to the employment manager
that she could extract 75 words a minute from a well-oiled
typewriter, and she could spell "receive" correctly (which
very few persons can do) and she was diligent.

Being a continuity clerk is not a hard job if you haven't got
temperament. It is the most untemperamental job there is
in the place. All you have to do is sit on a camp-stool, book
and pencil in hand, and as fast as the director barks out
changes in the scenario or continuity, you simply dash off a
few thousand words, type it on a folding typewriter right on
the spot, and hand it to the director within, say, five or ten
minutes.

One day the camera-man had a new lens. He desired to
try it out.

"Listen, Helen," he said in that frank, familiar way that
all cinema photographers have, "listen. Put a little powder
on and stand over there under the lights. I want to try out
my lens."

Helen did as she was invited and the camera-man shot
several hundred feet of film to try out the lens. And when
the reel was developed and run off through the projecting
machine as a test, what do you suppose happened?

It developed that Helen was an actress.

"She is a wonder," said Hugh Ford, a veteran director.

"She is a find," echoed John Robertson, another director.

"She is a peach," enthused George Fitzmaurice.

George Fitzmaurice cast her for the role of — we hate to
say so — "Intoxication," in the big production of "Experience."

But Helen has not forgotten her regular job in spite of her
part in the film play. Between whiles, when she is not playing
"Intoxication," she sobers down, as one might say, and sits
on the little old camp-stool, and with note book in hand jots
down continuity changes.

THE SCREEN'S NEWEST WOMAN
PRODUCER

THE screen now has its second woman producer-director.
Lois Weber no longer holds the feminine fort alone.
Marion Fairfax — famous playwright and one of the
most successful screen writers of the day — has formed
her own company and is at present engaged in "shooting" her
first picture.

There have been a number of feminine directors — including
Frances Marion — but in spite of the fact that Lois Weber has
been successfully making her own pictures for four years, no
other woman has followed her lead — until Miss Fairfax re-
cently announced that she had become head of the Marion
Fairfax Productions and would produce, direct and write her
own pictures.

Miss Fairfax has the sort of a career behind her that makes
you think you are writing for "Who's Who" when you try
to tell about it.

Before she "went into pictures" she was one of the most
eminent stage authors in the country. She wrote such New
York hits as "The Builders" which had a record run at the
Astor, "The Chaperon," in which Maxine Elliott starred and
which was chosen to open the Maxine Elliott Theater, "The
Talker," "Mr. Crew's Career, "in collaboration with the cele-
brated English author, Mr. Winston Churchill, "Mrs. Boltay's
Daughter" and "A Modern Girl."

She has given the screen a number of delightful stories and
has written scenarios galore for Marshall Neilan — during the
past year and a half those to her credit being "The River's
End," "Go and Get It, " "Dinty" and "Bop Hampton of
Placer" — and before that for Famous Players-Lasky.

She wrote the story herself for the first production to bear
her name and the cast includes her husband, Tully Marshall —
wouldn't it be funny to be directed by your own wife on the
stage? — Marjorie Daw and Pat O'Malley.

Marion Fairfax has been a close student of
acting, her husband, Tully Marshall, being
one of the best character actors in America.

A WHITE-HAIRED "CHILD
OF PROMISE"

1HAD seen her around the Lasky lot any number of times —
a little white-haired old lady, simply dressed in gray.
I noticed her particularly because she didn't seen* to
belong — and thought she must be somebody's grandmother
acting as temporary chaperon or something of that sort.

Then one day somebody wanted to introduce me to the
author of "One Wild Week" — Hebe Daniels' successful comedy.

I visualized an Elinor Glyn-ish sort of person, sophisticated,
worldly, blase, probably with red hair and sparkling eyes.

I was introduced.

And it was my little white-haired old lady!

Immediately I perceived her business-like connection with
the work in hand.

For Miss Frances Harmer, whose official title is now literary
assistant to William deMille, was a very important part of
the enormous set Mr. deMille was staging for his production
of "The Stage Door."

She is just four feet, ten inches tall, and she is sixty-three
years old, is Miss Frances Harmer. But there is a spring in
her step,' a twinkle in her eye, and altogether bright, active
joy of living in her whole personality, that instantly explains
her ability" to hold the important position she holds.

So now — at sixty-three — she is a successful scenarioist, and
a co-worker with one of the greatest directors.

Her original position was in the readers' department at
Lasky's. And she was formerly a teacher.

I asked her how she happened to write "One Wild Week."

"I like a lot of quick action," she said briskly, tapping her
pencil on the open script before her and keeping one bright
blue eye on the set where Lila Lee, Jack Holt and twenty or
thirty lovely young things in tights, etc., were performing.
"So I decided that whatever happened in my story should
happen in a week. Then I thought the week needed descrip-
tion, so I stuck in the 'Wild.' That's all."

Miss Harmer assisted Mr. deMille in preparing Edward
Knoblock's "The Lost Romance" for the screen and also
"The Stage Door" by Rita Weiman.

Frances Harmer. scenarioist, is just four feet
ten inches tall ana is sixty-three years old.

John Robertson is a celebrated director now, but there
was a time when he played the kerosene circuit.

A HIGHBROW BARNSTORMER

THEY were making a picture on the old Vitagraph lot.
An actor who was on the pay-roll for $50 a week was
acting loudly and laboriously all over the place.

The .director — a mild-mannered part}7 with pleasant blue
eyes — watched the actor performing and interposed a soft
suggestion.

"I believe it would be better if you did it this way," said
the director amiably. And he showed the $50 actor how it
.-diould be done.

A while afterward the $50 actor sniffed.

"Huh!" he muttered. "That's the way with these directors.
They think they know how to act."

The director, John S. Robertson, didn't hear this aside.

If he had, he might have indulged in a couple of merry
gurgles.

For John Robertson knows every barnstorming town in the
United States and Canada.

He has played Kankakee and Keokuk. He has knocked
'em off their seats in Portland, Maine, and Portland, Oregon.
He has done low comedy with dramatic troupes which thought
nothing of offering "East Lynne" on Tuesday matinees and
"The Sidewalks of New York" on Tuesday nights.

It is no exaggeration to aver that John Robertson started
at the bottom; that he learned the rudiments of the show
business — acting, directing and everything else — in the atmos-
sphere where rudiments are the most conspicuous element
in the landscape.

But he emerged from this atmosphere and he admits that
he learned a great deal while playing on the Kerosene Oil
Circuit. Upon emerging he played for two years in support
of Rose Stahl and emerging further he acted upon the platform
with Maude Adams and other stars.

Then romance entered his life. He met Josephine Lovett
who was writing scenarios for the screen. This was in the old
days when a two-reeler was a "super" picture.

Realizing that the silent drama was going to be very big
time eventually, John Robertson abandoned the speakies.
Left 'em flat, and decided he would be a picture director.
It was a canny decision, but then you'd expect it of John
Robertson for although Canadian born, his parents were
Scotch. You know him as the director of "Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde," "39 East" and "Sentimental Tommy."

Xo wonder John Robertson would have smiled if he had
overheard the bolshevistic actor make that crack:

"What does he know about acting?"

JACK

BOYLE

THE GRAY

Another of the fascinating "Boston Blackie"

stories, relating more about the mysterious

underworld organization that fights the

causes of men hounded by law.

THE girl turned toward
the man who had
paused just within the
doorway to appraise the
dingy little law office in a
swift, comprehensive glance.

The man's eyes returned to
the girl's face — an oddly win-
some face that suggested in
its pensive lines the workings
of a melancholy mind whose
deepest interests lay within
itself. Her eyes were on her
visitor's face — wide-set, dark
eyes that shocked curiously
by their blank fixity. At
once the man realized that
she was blind.

"What may I do for you,
sir?" the girl inquired, her
slender fingers wandering
restlessly over the keys of her
typewriter.

"I'm wanting to see the
lawyer, " the visitoranswered,
inwardly congratulating him-
self that the girl's blindness
made his task an easy one.
"My name's O'Neill and I've
a bit of a case I want — "

"Your name is not
O'Neill," she interrupted with
positive and unruffled calm-
ness. " You are Patrick Con-
nors, upper office detective
from police headquarters. An
hour ago Police Commissioner
McElvoy instructed you to
come here for the purpose of
finding an opportunity to in-
stall a detectaphone. The
commissioner's exact words
to you were: 'Get a detecta-
phone into the office of a
broken-down, has-been at-
torney named Caesar Septi-
mus Sills. He's the clearing-
house of communication be-
tween the outside world and the dangerously shrewd chief of
the crook organization that calls itself the Gray Brothers.
Three times within ten days attorneys employed by the Gray
Brothers have forced us to release men we were holding without
warrants for third degree purposes. They're forcing us to
conform to the strict letter of the law. Locate this chief crook
and I'll put him where he won't interfere with my police
methods for the next twenty years.' "

The detective's face had become a ruddy map of stupefac-
tion. Word for word the blind girl had repeated to him his
superior's commands given in the supposed sanctity of the
police head's private office. No one else had been present; and

"Where is that Hartley letter now?" interjected Whe-
producmg it. Senator Wnelan s face grew a pasty

yet, within an hour, a blind typist in a third-class law office was
detailing to him with stenographic accuracy a police secret he
had been particularly warned to keep inviolate.

As the officer mopped his brow to cover speechless confusion,
a telephone bell rang. The girl reached for one of three phones
that stood on her desk. If amazement had not dulled Patrick
Connor's innate shrewdness he might have guessed the secret
of the solicitude unconsciously betrayed by the tone in which
the girl spoke into the phone and listened, then, with a faint
hint of color suddenly livening her cheeks. He might have
guessed that a Voice had become the secretly nurtured ro-
mance of a blind girl's otherwise drab and eventless life. And,

BROTHERS

Sequel to "Through the Little Door",

the thrilling death-chamber storv

that appeared in the September issue

of Photoplay.

Illustrated by
Lee Conrey

Ian, brusquely. Here. answered the Gray Brother,
white. "Where did you get it?" he demanded.

had he guessed, he would have known with what utter loyalty
she served the Voice that illuminated her unlighted days.

The girl spoke into the phone in a soft and strange language
that seemed a jumble of purling vowel sounds. A few seconds
of attentive listening and she hung up the earpiece and turned
again to the detective.

"The Chief Brother asks you to inform the police com-
missioner that our organization does not commit crime nor con-
cern itself with cases of men guilty of crime," she said, "but it
has forced and will continue to force the release of men de-
tained by the police without proper process of law; also of men
convicted by error or perjury. The Chief wishes you to tell the

commissioner that the posi-
tion of the Gray Brothers is
that the sanctity of all law is
equal and that a police force
in ignoring any man's law-
given rights in efforts to en-
force other laws, itself be-
comes criminal. And to save
you the trouble of attempting
to install a detectaphone in
this office, our chief invites
you to remain here at your
pleasure. He adds for your
information that you're wel-
come to listen in on our
phones whenever you choose,
as all messages of importance
are delivered and received, al-
ternately, in one or several of
the original twenty-three lan-
guages of the North Ameri-
can Indians."

The girl took a typed sheet
from her desk and handed it
to the now-speechless detec-
tive.

"Our chief suggests that
this transcript of the com-
missioner's private instruc-
tions to you in reference to
the ( Iray Brothers will, as it
comes from this office, serve
as a needed reminder to him
of the extreme inefficiency of
his police methods. Is there
anything else I can do for
you?" she concluded with
irritating sweetness.

"Down for the count at the
end of the first round — that's
me," gasped the frankly-
awed detective to himself as
he banged the office door be-
hind him and returned to
headquarters to turn the po-
lice commissioner's face an
apoplectic purple with the
message sent by the master

outlaw mind that governed the uncannily prescient power

called the Gray Brothers.

While the head of the city's police raged, Caesar Septimus

Sills, a shabby, white-haired, little man, returned to his office

and found his blind daughter with the tint of color left by the

magic of a Voice still on her cheeks. ■■^'I

"Maia, Maia, I have it at last," the old man exclaimed

rapturously.

"The letter taken from the Governor!" delightedly from the

girl in an Indian tongue. >*

"Yes, the letter, too. But I meant a specimen of the

Heliactin Bilopha. It completes our collection of South Amer-

Photoplay Magazine

lean humming birds. It's a perfect specimen of the male with
the purple, green and golden crests that give it its colloquial
name, Sun Gem. Oh, Maia, my dear, I would give half my
life if you could see this treasure which is the final achievement
of our collection. It's priceless! It's — ."

"But the letter, father," interrupted the girl gently. "The
Chief Brother has phoned the command that you are to send it
up to him at once. He wants it tonight without fail."

"Yes, Maia, I'll start it on at once. Tell the chief I wired the
funds to San Francisco to attend to the Lessing matter and
that I delivered the 81,000 to send Chauffeur Danny's widow
and child to the Colorado sanitarium. Inform him our bank
balance this morning is $397,842.16. I think that's all, my
dear."

As her father's steps died away down the corridor the phone
on the girl's desk tinkled. Maia reached for it with eager fin-
gers and as she began to speak in the soft accents of Indian

'Tell the Chief I de-
livered the $1,000 to
send Chauffeur Dan-
ny s widow and child
to the Colorado sani-
tarium. Inform him
that our bank balance

is $397,842.16. I think

that s all, my dear.

races now all-but-forgotten, her cheeks again glowed with the
magic tint of happiness — happiness that flowed to her from
the sound of a Voice that never had been anything more
tangible than just a voice over a phone.

II
Governor Jarid Huested switched on the lights in the library

rhotoplay Magazine

of his home and waxed Police Commissioner McEIvoy to a
chair.

"Commissioner, I've brought you here tonight to ask your
advice in a vital matter — a matter that may decide next week's
election. My problem is this." The Governor paused to light
a cigar. "I have received through the mail a letter which, if
genuine as I believe it to be, insures my re-election as governor
of the state. It's conclusive proof that my esteemed opponent
is exactly what I have asserted throughout my campaign — a
man pledged in advance to serve certain corporate interests I
have fought during my four years at the capitol. This letter
in his own writing over his own signature convicts him. Evi-
dently it was required by his corporation backers as a guarantee
of ultimate performance. Well, Commissioner, I have this
letter — but I can conceive of no possible way in which those
who sent it to me could have obtained it except through theft.
Am I or am I not justified in using it?"

The police commissioner's smile was approval personified.

"That's news I'm mighty glad to hear, Governor," he re-
plied. "My advice is to use it the moment you have proved it
genuine. Even if it did reach you through devious means you
are not responsible. Have you any idea by whom the letter
was mailed to you?"

"I have," the Governor answered slowly. "It was accom-
panied by a brief, typed note which read: 'Make use of this
document. It will keep you in the Governor's chair for another
four years.' The note was signed, 'The Gray Brothers.'"

The police commissioner sprang to his feet.

"The Gray Brothers again!" he exclaimed. "Everything
that happens in this town lately can be traced back somehow to
that mysterious band of crooks. Is the letter here? May I
see it?"

The Governor unlocked a desk drawer and drew out a wallet.

"Here is the document," he said, selecting an envelope and
tossing it across to his friend. "Read it and tell me whether
or not I am right in asserting that it crucifies our friend
Hartley."

The commissioner's expectant smile vanished as he drew a
typed slip of paper from the envelope.

"Good God, Governor, the letter is gone! You've been
robbed," he cried.

Governor Huested snatched the typed slip and read:

"The other side offers more for the Hartley

letter than we care to refuse so we are retracting
our gift to you. With regrets.

The Gray Brother;-."

"Stolen — from my own desk — here in my own home," the
Governor ejaculated. "There's not a scratch on the desk and

it's -till locked as I left it. How did they do it?"

" Men capable of obtaining such a letter from the corporation
vault from which I judge it came would find your simple desk
lock a bit of child's play," the police commissioner explained.
"Always the Gray Brothers! There's a master criminal mind,
directing that dangerously powerful order of criminals. But
even I would not have guessed they would dare this, Governor."

The Governor's fist banged the table.

"Dare this!" he exclaimed. "The robbery of a Governor's
residence is a triviality to them. Let me tell you one of their
real exploits. They kidnapped and drugged me, the Governor
of the state. I lost consciousness as I rode in a cab on the
streets of our capital. I recovered in a prison cell — a death
house cell — bereft of my identity. They told me I was in
Lester penitentiary death house, sentenced with my cellmate
to execution. They made it so real I actually reached a state
of mind in which I believed them. They shaved my head for
the electric chair! They sent me through the little door to
the chair itself."

Involuntarily the Governor shuddered.

"They strapped me in The Chair! A black cap shut the
light from my eyes," he continued. "And then — blackness
that I thought was death. When I opened my eyes I was in
my cab unharmed. Beside me was the man who had been my
cell-partner. He explained what had happened and why."

"The explanation, what was it?" demanded the astounded
commissioner.

"The Gray Brothers! My prison and The Chair had been
built expressly for me in one of their (Continued on page 106)

The Senator lost no time in phoning McEIvoy that

I. chief 01 the Brothers, am in the home of Governor

Huested, said Blackie. They expect to trap me

as I leave."

WEST is EAST

A Few Impressions
By DELIGHT EVANS

I Went to the Ball-Game.
Tom Mix was There, too.
And Maybe you Think
We didn't Get Fun.
Oh no — not just
Tom and I — but
Tom's Wife, too, and
Her Mother:
Victoria and
Eugenie Forde.
Some of the Cartoonists
Should Meet this Mother-in-Law.
It would Spoil
All their Little Jokes.

Everybody had a Good Time

At this Ball-Game.

The Men

Thoroughly Enjoyed themselves —

None of the Ladies

Asked a Single Question.

Why

Should they Worry

About a Silly Old Ball-Game

When Tom Mix was There?

Tom didn't Want

To be Recognized — so

He Wore his Sombrero.

Babe Ruth walked Right Up

To Tom's Box to Shake Hands —

And Nobody Noticed Babe at all.

Tom and the Babe were

Friends in California.

So Babe Obliged

With a Home Run.

They Say he Only Does That

When there 's Somebody he Knows

Out in Front.

You Could Only See

The Top of Tom's Hat

When the Crowd Followed him Out

Afterwards,
Cheering him —
What 's the Use
Of Being a King
Or a President, Anyway?
Tom Came East
Just to See the Fight and
Babe Make a Homer and
Play Golf with Bill Fox, his Boss-
Bill Won,
But he Gave Tom
A Beautiful New Golf Set
To Make Up for It. Tom
Can always Use it in Pictures.
Mr. Mix from California
Inspected the White House and
Met the President. He Says

"At the ball game, Tom didn't want to be
recognized, so he wore his sombrero.

Everything Looks All Right, but
He Will be Glad
To Get Back to Cal.

PRINCESS Fatima
Of Kabul
Came to Town. They Named
The Cigarettes After her.
I will Impress her
As soon

As she Signs her Film Contract.
She hasn't Thought about it Yet,
But I 'm sure she will.
She's a Princess, isn't she?
If you are One of those,
Of which I was another,
Who never heard of Kabul — ■
It's in Afghanistan,
Honestly.
" I Want

"Tsuru Aoki looks exactly like an ex-
quisite Japanese doll dressed up in French
clothes.

The Hyawakawakawas",
I Told the Hotel Clerk.
"I 'm sorry," he said,
"But

We haven 't Any
Just Now.
Shall I Order Some
For You?"
Just then,
Sheshue and
Shury Came Up.
I Made Certain Sounds
But Nothing very
Definite, Addressing them,
But

They're Both Clever, and
They Gathered what it was
All About.
He Said he'd

Just Met the President, but
He is Unusual in Many Ways.
It was her First Trip East —
In America. She Looks Like
An Exquisite Japanese Doll
Dressed Up
In French Clothes.

She's The Sweetest Thing I Ever Saw-
only
Sometime Somebody
Is Going to Pick her up
And Take her Home
To his Little Girl.
She's Intelligent, even
For a Movie Actress.
She May Remind you
Of a Doll— but
She can Say Other Things
Besides Papa and Mama.
She Said

They had a Rather Important
Appointment,
And he Grinned.
I Asked them

Where they were Going — it seemed to be
The Thing to Do.

"I give you three guesses," she' said,
In her Quaint little Voice.
I Give Up.
So she Whispered:
"To Coney Island!"
I'm Sure you'd Like
Sessue Hayakawa and
Tsuru Aoki.
(I Can Spell it, even if
I Can't Pronounce it.)

Photograph by Alfred Cheney Johnston.

WE are often asked why Marilynn Miller, the youngest star on Broadway, has never trans-
ferred her radiance to the silent drama. (She's singing and dancing now in "Sally" and
before that she was a star in Ziegfeld*s "Follies." For her services in the current production
Miss Miller is said to receive somewhere in the neighborhood of $3500 a week.) Someone put
the question to her. "Well," she said, "you know there are so many girls in pictures who look
like me." We have never seen any. We wish we would.

THROUGH the GOLDWYN GATE

RALPH

BARTON

The impressive — and use-
ful— entrance to the Gold-
wyn acres in Culver City.
Besides being a good gate,
it occasionally works in a
picture as a set. Did you
see it in "Doubling for
Romeo? "

Lon Chaney is the easiest man on earth to draw. If

the sketch doesn't look like him he will deftly make

up to look like the sketch. You can't go wrong.

Making a scene in "The Glorious Fool" — E. Mason Hopper directing Richard Dix, three
sheets in the wind on histrionic hootch, out of his club and into the scrub-lady 's bucket.
The portable organ at the left is playing an old American folk-song:

until Morning.

'We Won't be Home

Sketches from a
notebook filled
at Culver City.

What Reginald

Barker does to

actors who

won *t act.

Will Rogers, whde making
"Poor Relations, has

dropped roping and taken up
fiddling as a between-the-
scenes amusement. Jimmy
Rogers, on the side-lines,
asks, "Say, Dad. when are
you going to work with me
in a picture again?

Renee being very much adoree

by her new husband, lorn

Moore.

Molly Malone, in spite of the fact

that she is pretty and is in pictures,

always reads between scenes.

Droves of eminent American authors scurry to and fro about the Goldwyn Valhalla. A glance

in any direction will reveal at least a Rita Weiman, a Rupert Hughes, a Gertrude Atherton,

or a Gouverneur Morris, script in hand, on the way to or from the set.

CLOSE-UPS

bditorial Expression and Timely Comment

NOW an "editorial committee" from the National
Association of the Motion Picture Industry is to
pass on the fitness of the motion pictures pro-
duced by its members. This is a part of the
promise made in answer to censorship advocates that
the motion picture industry would "clean up." Quite
without prej udice one can wonder wherein this sort of a
committee supervision will differ materially in character
or effect from the work of the "National Board of Re-
view," which has been in operation a number of years.
The National Board was also in turn and in the day of
its inception an organization to meet a promise to
"clean up." To install another board of review, another
voluntary self-censorship, is not to meet the issue
squarely. Also to establish such an institution is to
make a confession in behalf of a whole industry that
is not justified by the facts.

THE most innocent "prop" down on the farm was
the homely, comfortable old "dasher" churn. One
of Hollywood's actor princes acquired one of these
honest old contrivances recently. Does he make but-
ter in it? He does not; he makes cocktails in it for
his parties! Thus is the immortal extravagance of
Cleopatra and the classic pearl dissolved in vinegar
outdone!

NOW comes the discovery that the principle of "the
persistence of vision," which makes the motion
picture move by the superimposition of visual images
in the mind's eye, was known as early as 65 B. C. Ben
J. Lubschetz in his "The Story of the Motion Picture,"
states that writing in that day Lucretius recorded his
observation that a stone whirled at the end of a string
gave the appearance of a solid disc. This observation
came about no doubt by watching some hardy hill man
hurling stones with his sling. The whirling stone not
only conveyed the principle of the motion picture but
also made the enemy see stars.

THE New York police have been investigating Green-
wich Milage — the so-called artistic quarter of New
York, inhabited largely by long-haired men and short-
haired women — to see if it is as bad as it appears in
moving pictures made in Los Angeles by young Cali-
fornians working under directors from the Middle
West.

WORLD-FASHIONS in matrimony are changing.
Formerly impecunious foreign noblemen came to
Fifth avenue, or Newport, in quest of alliances with
rich young New York society girls. Now they are in
California, pursuing the diamond-crusted young picture
stars.

EVERY comedian and every punster has taken a
fall out of the now-famous — or infamous, accord-
ing to your point of ignorance — list of questions pro-
pounded by Thomas A. Edison. But in our opinion
the hand-painted moustache cup for the best single
burlesque should go to Baird Leonard of the New York
Telegraph, who asked: "Who shot what off whose
head?"

PROHIBITION is getting more and more cruel to
■*■' the photoplay industry. And we don't mean that
the sufferer now is the wealthy actor, at his Lucullan
feasts; nor the director, intent on punching his big
dramatic wallop out of a banned drinking scene. We
mean that the fellow hurt most is the manufacturer
of the raw film itself. Alcohol is a most important, if
not the most important, solvent in the manufacture of
film stock, and restrictions upon its manufacture, dis-
tribution and use are becoming such that even the
biggest makers are being seriously handicapped.

THO hear the talk about the cheapness of feature-
*■ making in Europe, one would think that an ancient
alchemist had stalked from his forgotten tomb to turn
all metals into gold for some kino-koenig of Deutschland.
As a matter of fact; no place has yet been discovered on
this small round world where one gets a lot for nothing.
"Deception" — these figures are established — cost
11,000,000 marks. At the present rate of exchange,
this is $200,000. And at that, considering what they
got, even in mere material, it is a most economical out-
lay compared to some of the profligate expenditures
in California.

A NOTHER old adage has gone by the board — the
•**■ spring-board — in Hollywood. It used to be:
"What is home without a mother?" Now, in the spa-
cious establishments of the kings and queens of the
movies, they ask: "What is home without a swimming-
pool?" If you haven't one, in western Los Angeles,
you are in the pitiable class of the pencil and shoestring
vendors.

CHANNING POLLOCK, in a recent interview, said
that it took "ten years and a world-war" to make
people believe in the real-life possibility of his old play,
"Such a Little Queen." At the rate the world is speed-
ing now, ten years more may make a motion-picture
serial seem like everyday life. Then, oh, Destiny, it
will be about time to bring on that devastating comet!

MOVIE audiences in New York, says Sherwood in
Life, have been educated up to the point where
they actually outrank the theatrical audiences in intel-
ligence. He bases this conclusion on the apprecia-
tion that has resulted in the wonderful development of
the art of presentation of pictures. Did you ever stop
to think how few of the great theatrical producers have
made a success in motion pictures? Many have tried
but most have flopped. It's very easy to view the
pictures and criticize, but if you knew the complications
and heartaches involved in their making, you would be
more tolerant.

INTENT on living our lives for us and on legislating
us into heaven, the reformers refuse to credit lovers
of motion pictures with intelligence beyond the moron
stage. But, with all their deficiencies and violations
of good taste, we have never met a producer that was
not more human and sincere than the average pro-
fessional guide to heaven by the legislation route.

"V^OU may have heard that Wallace Reid came east to play in a picture. But

*- t he real reasons for his journey all the way from California are seen here. VVally

visited his mother and grandmother in his old home at Atlantic Highlands, N. J.

'T*HE Rogers kids: Will, Jimmy (the famous movin-
A pitcher actor.) Mary, and Will, Jr., in the sun-parlor
of the "The House that Jokes Built." Will is reading
from one of his own books. By the way, we hear he is
going back to the Follies.

THEIR
CHILDREN

AND a Few Parents! We didn't
particularly intend to include
any parents at all, but several of
the members of the Junior Sunshine
League of Hollywood are cither too
young or too shy to be photo-
graphed without their fathers.
Some of these children you'll rec-
ognize. They are, you see, growing
up. We hesitate to give the ages of
the young ladies, because they are
the stars of tomorrow, and stars
are singularly averse to birthdays.
We hesitate — but here they are!

QNE of the most popular of
^^ Hollywood's younger set (be-
low): Miss Mary Joanna Des-
mond. She has just celebrated
her first birthday and is feeling
very blase about it. Her father
is William Desmond.

TF THIS were an equine instead of a
A canine, we could say something
about Barbara Flynn's gift horse
which gave her Maurice B. ("Lefty")
Flynn, former Yale football star, for a
father. Barbara is half-past-three.

'PHE twenty-one-months-old
"*■ daughter of Sam Wood (there,
we've given her away) is happy-
because she's a namesake of
Gloria Swanson. Little Gloria
plays in pictures when her
father is directing Big Gloria.

'pHE two younger children of
Jack Holt: two and a few
months old respectively. These
youngsters, and a girl of nine,
are three good reasons why Jack
Holt is known in the film colony
as a "family man."

TJERE'S Bill. You know Bill. He is probably
iA the most frequently photographed of all
film children. William Wallace Reid, to call
him by his Sunday name, passed his fourth
birthday on June 8th. This is his private ocean.

gELOW: Dorothy Sills,
the daughter of Milton
Sills. Before he became a
prominent leading man,
Mr. Sills was a college in-
structor, and Dorothy is
going to follow in his foot-
steps. She has written
stories and recently re-
ceived a prize for an essay.

T ITTLE Mary Pick-
ford, the adopted
daughter of Mrs. Char-
lotte Pickford, and the
real daughter of Lottie.
She makes her film debut
in Aunt Mary's "Little
Lord Fauntleroy," and
she is almost certainly a
future star.

'THE two sons of Mr. and
Mrs. Bryant Washburn:
Sonny — nobody thinks of call-
ing him Bryant, Jr. — and his
little brother, D wight. Sonny
is more than just a big brother
— he's a pal, a guardian, and a
grandfather in responsibility.

PONRAD and Ruth Mar-
v-' garet Nagel: the thou-
sandth portrait of the one and
the very first portrait of the
other. Ruth Margaret's

mother was Ruth Helms, who
is prettv enough to be a star
herself, but prefers to be sim-
ply Mrs. Conrad Nagel.

Nelson Evans

QUITE apart from her beauty, her charm, and her dramatic ability, PHOTO-
PLAY considers Mary Pickford one of the great women of her time. As star
and manager of her own company, she has produced pictures of lasting value.

How I Keep
in Condition

By
KATHERINE MAC DONALD

THIS is the second of a series of articles by celebrated
beauties of the screen, in which they divulge, for
the first time, their secrets of health and charm.
Katherine MacDonald has been advertised as "The
American Beauty" —and everyone who has ever seen

her knows that her press-agents have not exaggerated.
She is a fine example of wholesome, athletic young
womanhood. Next month, Corinne Griffith, a South-
ern beauty, who is an entirely different type from Miss
MacDonald, will tell you how she keeps fit.

Katherine MacDonald has three rules of health and good-looks : eight hours sleep,
every night, plenty of exercise, and regularity of existence.

THERE are three things which I have found absolutely
necessary to keeping in condition.
Sleep, exercise and regularity of existence.
I have placed them in the relative order of their im-
portance.

Sleep is certainly the first. Because it is the foundation of
every element of health, beauty, fitness, nerve control, and
mental vigor.

I must have eight hours' sleep and nine if I can get it.

I prefer this sleep to cover the same hours — from ten to
seven, if possible. No woman can keep tit without at least
eight hours' sleep a night — and by that I mean eight hours'
sleep every night, not two or three one night and twelve
hours the next night. Day time sleep never is the same
rest that night sleep is.

I think I can safely say that I am in bed by ten o'clock nine
nights out of ten. I never go to parties, theaters or cafes at
night when I am working. Perhaps if my call is late the next
morning, I will take in a show once every two weeks.

You must sleep with all the windows open — on a sleeping
porch, as I do, if possible. With just as few covers as you

can be comfortable with, and never any artificial heat of any
kind provided even during the day.

For goodness sake, don't sleep with your hair done up in
curl papers, or stuff on your face or gloves on your hands or
any of those utterly absurd things. Because if you do you
won't sleep at all, really. You are always semi-conscious of
these trick things and you will wake up to find little lines in
your face that you cannot explain.

Many physical culture experts believe that it is a good thing
to sleep without even the restriction of night garments.

No one can keep in condition without exercise. That is an
absolute "lead pipe cinch," as the slang phrase has it.

Now here is the great difficulty with most women. They
simply will not exercise.

I am a large woman, as the American woman goes. I stand
five feet seven and a half and weigh around one hundred and
thirty or forty pounds. For me exercise is essential, or I get
logey, might get stout, and would assuredly lose the elasticity
and spring that are essential to an actress who hopes to express
emotions.

There are two ways (Continued on page 99)

LIFE

I— THE

ARTISTIC

LIFE

THIS is the first of a series of
satirical articles on the dif-
ferent phases of life as depicted
in the motion pictures. "The
Social Life," "The Club Life,"
"The Underworld Life," "The
Island Life," and "The Wild
West Life" are to follow.

WILLARD

HUNTINGTON

WRIGHT

WILLARD Huntington Wright is an
editor, novelist, critic, world authority
on painting, and one of the foremost living
American satirists. Among his numerous
books are "Europe after 8:15", "The
Man of Promise", "The Creative Will",
"Modern Painting", "What Nietzsche
Taught", "Misinforming a Nation", etc.

The wealthy artist s studio in the films.

THE aesthetic life, as the average film reveals it to the
gaping eye of the uninitiate, is a strange and astonishing
existence unlike anything as yet discovered on this
drab terrestrial globe.
Just as Jules Verne created a fabulous sub-maritime existence;
just as H. G." Wells invented a weird figmental lunar life; just
as Dunsany fashioned a fantastic universe of gnomes and trolls
and demi-gods — so has the modern motion picture director
drawn upon his febrile fancy and given birth to an art world
of astonishing and frenzied aspect — an Einsteinian world in
which all ordinary laws are suspended, and in which a delirious
and bizarre system of ethics and actions obtains — a world
unto itself, a microcosmos with its own unearthly codes and
manners, its own amazing modes of dress.

Regard, for instance, the manner in which the cinema
gentleman of the brush and palette bedecks himself. Upon
his head, surmounted with East Aurora hair, we find a tam-
o'-shanter — the sine-qua-non of the motion picture artist.
He wears it at all times — in and out of the throes of creating,
at table and at church, in cafes and in bed. He fails even to
remove it when wooing.

Nor is it an ordinary tam-o'-shanter of the familiar Scottish
cut, designed primarily as a protective covering for the scalp.
Far from it! It resembles a gargantuan mushroom, and is
worn on the extreme left side of the head, its bulbous folds
depending to the collar-bone. Stuffed with feathers it would
make a circular sofa-pillow of extraordinary size. Inflated
with gas, and with a basket attached, it would serve as an
observation balloon.

But this fungoid head-dress is but one of the sartorial
idiosyncrasies of the painter as depicted on the screen. In

addition, he wears a snug Eton jacket of black velvet, whose
length is barely sufficient to form a junction with the broad
sash which encircles his Dardanelles, and which acts as a
substitute for the ordinary waistcoat. The style of this girdle
is based upon that of the Spanish pirate of olden times, and is
similar to the abdominal scarf of the modern toreador.

The Eton jacket hangs open in front like the alpaca Tuxedos
of waiters of the red-ink circuit, revealing a soft, quasi-sport
shirt not unlike the outer chemise which has been adopted
(along with puttees and riding breeches) by the motion picture
directors themselves, as the insignia of their profession. But
whereas the director spurns the effeminate luxury of a cravat,
the cinema artist affects a black Windsor tie of voluminous
dimensions.

The trousers of these motion picture Rembrandts arc, in
reality, bloomers a la Turqite. They have a circumference at
the hips of eight feet, and are drawn in tightly about the ankles.
The fabric is always corduroy.

The habits of the screen artist are fully as astounding and
rococo as his integuments. Take the practice of kissing, for
example. The incipient Leonardo of the films habitually
caresses his model when she arrives for work — which is gener-
ally about tea time. And he also implants a buss upon her
lips when she departs — which is immediately after tea. One
would imagine that either all models refuse to pose without a
labial pour-boire, or else all painters are aesthetically impotent
unless inspired by osculation.

Then there is the question of studio lighting. In the world
of the motion pictures all artists invariably paint against the
light. They place their easel with its back to the window,
which, as a rule, is heavily curtained; and adjust the canvas

IN THE FILMS

Decorations by
RALPH BARTON

The manner in
which the cin-
ema gentle-
man or the
brush and pal-
ette bedecks
himself.

so that it is entirely in the shadow. This may
account for the fact that the model is always posed
within a fewinches of the easel.

And this brings up another curious point in the
art life of the screen. The subjects of all pictures
have to do with ladies au nature!. Deprive the
film painter of the nude, and you deprive him of his
art.

However, only a small portion of a cinema artist's
time is spent in the drudgery of painting. He is too
busy leading the artistic life to work much at his
trade. For instance, his hours are busily occupied
with playing childish practical jokes on other artists.
for he is nothing if not hilarious and light-hearted.
His sans-souci, in fact, is infinite; and, by way of
expressing his exuberance, he is constantly waving
objects in the air — such as bottles, chairs and loaves
of bread. In addition, he whiles away the time
by dancing gaily about the
studio and singing chansons.

\\ hen the concierge comes
to collect the rent (which is
every quarter of an hour) he
grabs her jovially in his arms,
does a tarantelle, and then
playfully ejects her from the
room with a violent coup de
pied. He is a boisterous and
gregarious bird, with the
mind of a half-wit; and he
rarely greets a fellow Bohe-
mian without throwing both
arms about his neck and
hugging him affectionately.
Instead of walking, he skips.

His nights are devoted
entirely to attending fancy-

costume balls at which all the girls, dressed as .Marion Morgan Greek
dancers, do musical-comedy chorus numbers and, during the intermis-
sion, sit on the tables drinking tree champagne, brandishing their glasses,

and chucking gentlemen visitors under the chin.

The climax of these luxurious orgies, which take place nightly in the
Latin Quarter of the motion picture art world, is the arrival of a gigantic
cake of frosted papier-mache, from the center of whicli there leaps — to
the utter amazement and staggering bewilderment of all present — the
"Queen of the Models"; although why this pastry phenomenon should so
flabbergast everyone is difficult to understand, inasmuch as it happens
every midnight during the entire life of the cinema artist.

And this brings us to the "Queen of the Models" herself. Without
her no motion picture art quarter is complete. She is very much sought
after by all the painters, for she alone, it would seem, is capable of in-
spiring masterpieces by the perfect curves, arcs and parabolas of her
"altogether." And although she is gay and vivacious and given to danc-
ing on tables and emerging from cakes in the scantiest of attire, her purity
is almost supernatural. Her soul is as white as the driven snow, and
no thought of wrong has ever clouded her virginal mind. With her
meagre earnings she supports a phthisical, nonagenarian mother, two
invalid sisters, four Belgian war orphans, and a crippled brother who can
be cured only if she saves up enough money to have an operation per-
formed by a certain famous specialist.

No description of the art world of the films, however, would be com-
plete without a word concerning the studios themselves. To begin with,
the artist of the motion picture director's imagination is either a Croesus
or a pauper — there is no middle financial ground. If poor, he lives in
an attic with sloping walls, a cook stove, a camp cot, a deal table, a
kitchen chair, and a candle stuck in a claret bottle. The mise-en-scene
never varies. Several
window-]) a nes are
broken, the implication
being that the poorer
the artist, the more
windows he breaks.
Also, the poor painter
is obviously in the
habit of knocking down

the plaster in large

triangular patches; for

in no poor artist'-

studio are the wa

intact.

The wealthy artist's

studio, on the other

hand, is a mad, Heleo-

gabolian debauch of an-
tiques, Persian rugs

from Hoboken, depart-
ment store tapestries,

bric-a-brac, objets (Fart,

otto'mans, hookas,

sconces, sofa pillows.

Afghans, tabourettes,

i Continuedon page 104

Queen of
Models"
leaps from tht
papier-mach<

Rodeo
Romeo

' Let sixteen gamblers come handle

my coffin,
Let sixteen cowboys conic sing me

a song.
Take me to the graveyard and lay

the sod o'er me.
For I'm a poor cowboy and I
know I've done -wrong."

By
JOAN JORDAN

IT was, I judged, the 79th verse.
We had covered miles and miles and
miles along the mountain trails hack
of Chatsworth* to its tuneless agony.

Buck Jones sang it with due and becom-
ing gravity. His face was expressionless,
his voice dolorous. Yet I somehow de-
tected a deep and perverse mirth within
him.

Suddenly he turned to me with an en-
gaging and innocent smile.

"Ain't that terrible?" he remarked, in his
soft, southern drawl. "But at that, I know some worse ones."

We were headed for his "location camp" — a permanent in-
stitution in the mountains a few miles back of Hollywood.

I turned to take a good look at him as he rode on a few steps
ahead of me, long and loose and graceful in his saddle.

Buck Jones is the only cowboy-actor I have met so far who
remains completely the cowboy. In some mysterious way, he-
possesses all the glamour of the cowpuncher as our very best
fiction writers have drawn him. He might have stepped from
"Wolfville" or from the pages of O. Henry or Owen Wistcr
without even mussing up his chaps. He breathes the allure,
the thrill, the picturesqueness of the westerner, the horseman
who has actually vanished from our American life — the last
touch of our romanticism.

I have met a few of the real ones — left over from the day and
age of their glory. But they had not the advantage of being
young and decidedly handsome.

"You were really a cowboy, weren't you?" I ventured.

"Yes, ma'am, I was. I was born and reared in Oklahoma.
It's a pretty good little state. I spent most of my time on top
of a hors?, and I have had a look at the country. I was pretty
much of a rover — couldn't seem to settle down." (I discov-
ered later from his director that he was in the Mexican trouble
from the beginning and also in the World War.)

"But that was before I got married."

"Oh, are you married?"

I don't know why it surprised me. The good looking ones
always are.

"Yes, ma'am, I got married quite a while back. Got a
little girl playing 'round the house now."

" Is your wife a professional?" I asked, meaning, of course, an
actress.

" No, she's not a professional. But she's a marvellous rider.
I never see any woman could do as pretty trick riding as she
can. She's so graceful on a horse and she don't get

Buck Jones is the only cowboy-actor who remains completely the cowboy.
He breathes the allure of the last touch of western romanticism.

nervous no matter what he takes it into his head to do."

"How did you happen to go into motion pictures?"

" Rode in," he said with a grin. "Come clear out here from
Oklahoma pretty nigh three years ago to go into pictures. I
saw how well some of the fellows were doing and I decided I 'd
take a chance. So out I come. Never saw a stage from be-
hind in my life. Never knew a thing about acting. Anyway,
I rode round extra a while, and then I got a chance to double
for Tom Mix, when he was hurt one time.

"I been mighty lucky this year — only got hurt 7 times, and
then just little things like busted ribs and a broken foot and
leg. Never had to have anybody double for me yet. I'm
a tough guy to bust up.

"Anyway, after that I played a part or two. Nothing much,
I thought. And when they sent for me over here at Fox —
first off I wouldn't come. Thought some of the boys were
playing tricks on me. Sho' nuff. My friends are mighty fond
of a little practical joke. And there's the camp."

I made the acquaintance of a gentleman named Windriver
Bill — the camp cook. He seemed obsessed with two passions
— hatred of the purchasing agent who issued his requisition
orders at the studio and could never be persuaded of the appe-
tites of cowboys — and adoration of Buck Jones.

From him I learned that Buck is considered the best all-
round cowboy and rider in the game, that he can do anything
on a horse, that he has more nerve than a congressman and a
heart as big as the Texas range — that he takes care of "his
gang" with care and devotion and that he has never changed
in any detail sjnee Fox starred him a year ago.

It was easier talking to Windriver Bill — because Buck Jones
has a soft, peculiar way of talking, without moving his lips,
that makes it a constant strain to listen to him.

"By the way," I asked, "is his name really Buck Jones?"

"No," said Windriver Bill.

So you know as much about that as I do.

OUR ANIMATED NEWS BULLETIN

[Tennessee

E^i !_■ (Nebraska
attleship < rp >at target practice.

[Wyoming

FOR the benefit of those who
have had to leave before the
"Current Events" were flashed,
or, for some other reason, were
unable to gather their knowledge
of world affairs from the screen
weeklies, we present herewith all
the epoch-making happenings of
the month, carefully selected from
the principal animated news ser-
vices, and conveniently condensed,
so that anyone may, at a glance,
become cognizant of all the re-
cent events of vital interest.

Daredevil hanging from air-
plane above

Long Island Sound.
Boston Harbor.
San Francisco Bay.
Lake Michigan.

Iff

1 an^^k^^Bs^^NB Wwj*i

Dix

Soldiers at Camp ( t? >d

p { r; >domg setting-up exercises.

I runston

Grant

I Altoona

Si i c\_ ij t I Decatur [dancing in the publ

chool Children of <e 1 \ ) 1

Schenectady j park

I Elmira

public

Norman Anthony

at the

Camera

Elks' lUtica.

Odd Fellows' . Council Bluffs.

ci • ' parade at<cv /-■■

Snriners |r | Sioux City.

Knights of Pythias [South Bend.

; Yankees ] f Athletics.

The J e ^ox l,n a closely contested game I Indians.

J Indians with the I White Son

[Athletics J (Yankees.

Old Joe I

OldBdl I . ,. ,,

Old O !^e^inS n,s weekly manicure.

Old Ned" ,

Pres. Harding putting on the

second
fourth

1 sixth
eighth

green.

An Impression

Gloria Swanson

By
Ralph Barton

■it

Arthur bade Rosa come with him. Talat-No. wished her to remain. This is the appointed hour
of your final choice, he said, make it here and now.

FOOL'S PARADISE

The great awakening; of a man who loved a dream.

By
GLADYS HALL

ARTHUR PHELPS convalesced successfully from the
wound to his eyesight. The military hospital pro-
nounced him a "cure." From Rosa Duchene he did
not convalesce so successfully.

He told himself that he was a sentimentalist and a fool,
and he answered himself that he did not care. He argued
with himself that a kiss from a French dancer, an inconse-
quential, impartial little kiss can mean nothing, and he argued
back to himself that it meant his world and he knew it. The
dreams he had never dared to dream — he dared to dream
them now, because he must. The sweet pain he had kept
under cover — it was in the open, tugging at him, at his heart-
strings, at his sensibilities. Women were no longer women —
they were so many imperfect manifestations of Rosa Duchene —
Memory — but she was memory.

Ah, so this was love! Arthur remembered buddies of his
dying with their lips pressed to funny little bits of pasteboard,
to scrawled scraps of scented paper. He understood now.
Why had he ever laughed? He remembered a rain-gray night
and a gaunt man dying with a woman's name twisting his lips.
What a futile way to die, Arthur had thought. Now he knew.
Curious, one kiss . . . the contour of a face ... a voice.
Men have loved less.

Rosa Duchene went on. She sang at a great many of the
military hospitals. She kissed a great many of the men. It
was a part of the entertaining, quite a successful part. Rosa
did it very well. It was impersonal with her, although she tried
to give to each a personal touch. That, she felt, was Art.

Xow and then there were come-backs, so to speak. The
quick grip of some poor chap's hand on her own, hungry. A

4^ '

rhotoplay Magazine

man's eye's, with a prayer or something akin to it. The man
who had told her his name, for instance, Phelps, as she recalled
it. How he had looked at her. She had the curious and
surely the fantastic notion that he had never looked just so
before, that possibly he might never look just so again. Absurd.
She was a novice, after a fashion. She would forget him, after
awhile. And after awhile she did. As has been said, she went
on.

Arthur Phelps went on, too, but not forgetfully. He took
Rosa Duchene's face and voice and kiss back with him to
America, to the oilfields of the Southwest. That he sunk
everything he owned in an oilfield which proved itself to be
worthless, bothered him far less than the memory that smote
him, awake and asleep. He was, he told himself, one of the
fools of love. He was weak, but his weakness was his strength,
the greatest strength he knew. He spent his days in ineffectual
labor and his nights in the composing of poems to the French
dancer. Occasionally, he drifted to the Mexican side of the
oil town and watched the dancing in a can-
tina owned by the Spaniard, Roderiquez.

AND so with dreaming and with failure,
the days and the nights drifted past
him, individually unimportant, compos-
itely a sonnet to the memory of Rosa
Duchene, until . . .

It was a peculiarly arid sort of a night.
Overhead the sky was streaked as by a
passionately careless hand, with chrome
and an uneven scarlet. There was a
sultry wind. Following the gritty road
to his shack, Phelps kept a bitter pace with
his thoughts. They had not been bitter
until tonight. Something, it seemed, had
happened to him, innerly. He seemed,
for the first time since the war, to have a
perspective on himself, on his work, on his
life. What was he? A drifter of dreams.
What was his work? Failure. Miserable
toil in some miserable fields that had no
more prospect of oil than thay had of
fourteen karat gold. His life was all of a
piece with the rest of him. The only vital
thing in it was the vivd memory of a
woman's face and a woman's kiss. Both
impartial. Both impersonal.

It came to him tonight, stingingly, how
many other men must be remembering
Rosa Duchene's face and her kiss. Of
course they were. Did he, in his silly
fool's paradise, suppose himself the sole
recipient of the dancer's favors? Would
any other man be such a fool as to make
his life of this fleeting thing? Memory
was not enough. Tonight he wanted
response.

HE walked into the shack — and found
Poll Patchouli awaiting him.

At first he did not recognize her. She
was not Rosa and that was the recognition
he accorded all women. Then, with
scrutiny and some effort, he recalled tha
he had seen her before ... of course,
at the cantina of Roderiquez on the
Mexican side of the town. She was the
star dancer there. There were strays of
gossip. Roderiquez was madly in love
with her. She reciprocated, or did she
not? Phelps couldn't remember. What
did it matter? And why was the woman
here?

Before he could formulate the question
she was telling him, volubly. She had
saved, it would appear, some young girl
from a white slaver in the cantina. The
white slaver was one of the most liberal
patrons of the cantina and Poll's interven-
tion had brought the wrath of Roderiquez
upon her head. It had been necessary for
her to evade him and for safety she had
run to the American side of town and

claimed refuge in the first shack, which happened to be Phelps ' .
"So you see!" she said. Her gesture was expressive, con-
clusive.

A RTHUR felt annoyed. He did not want the woman here.
** Here where the walls were living with the pictured faces
of Rosa. Here where he compiled his sonnets to her memory.
He was a sentimentalist. Well and good. He would be one
and be damned to them.

He told her it was quite impossible for her to remain. She
told him that it was quite impossible for her to go.

He asked her whether or not she valued her reputation.

She said she didn't, but that she did value her life. Would
her remaining hurt him?

He said, yes, that it would. Unconsciously, his eyes strayed
to the many pictures of Rosa Duchene.

Poll's dark eyes strayed there at the same time, and at
tin' same time, too, something warm stirred in her breast and

'This is a matter oi life with me," Poll told Roderiquez. "for you it s

Photoplay Magazine

touched her bright eyes with a rare humidity. Life had been
hard. For her, sentiment and tenderness were almost done,
almost uprooted. Cynicism, cheap because of its environment,
was beginning. And then, this man, with the fair face that
shone, so it seemed to her, in the gathering dusk, like a great
white star, this man whose blue eyes turned unerringly to a
woman's repeated face upon the wall. The woman's face was
why, no doubt, he was never seen about the town, at the
cantina. There were men like that.

DOLL was silent. A transition was taking place in her inner
•*• life with the suddenness belonging to her volcanic nature.
How she could cherish a man like this; how she would value so
splendid a love!

Half an hour passed, touching them with its silence. After
awhile Phelps roused himself: "Aren't you going?" he asked.
He had just thought of a new sonnet to Rosa. Her kiss was to
be the trembling high-note. He felt the creative thrill. In

a matter of death, if you interfere. I take it you know better. Se

this sonnet he would make Rosa Duchene and a woman's kiss
simultaneously immortal. In this sonnet he would show the
world what a woman's kiss can mean.

DOLL'S answer grated back to him. "No," she said, "I'm
■■■ not going."

"Then I'll turn in on the porch," Arthur said, and stalked
out. He wanted to call back to her to make herself com-
fortable, but he feared the possible lessening of his dignity.
Why didn't she go back to her cantina? He composed his
sonnet to Rosa on a piece of timbre, writing with chalk. It
didn't go so well on the timbre as it had in the mind. The
woman's fault. He kept thinking she must be cold. He hadn't
told her where the blanket was. Well, what the devil was it to
him if she were cold? However, he didn't delude himself into
believing that on this particular evening, in this particular
sonnet, he had made either Rosa or the kiss immortal.

In the morning he found himself covered with the blanket.
At first he was bewildered. Then it came
to him — she had found it and had put it
on him.

In the morning, too, she told him that
^he was not going back to the cantina.
She thought she could get work on the
American side of the town. She had
rather not go back. She repeated this
several times, with significance. Arthur
said, "Roderiquez will hit the sky?"

HPHE woman nodded. "He wants me
* bad," she said, starkly.

"So I've heard," Arthur shrugged.
The simplicity of her reply had suggested
io him another sonnet. Something more
primitive than any he had yet attempted.
Perhaps he had been too elusive in his
versifying. Poll gave him a new angle.

It wasn't difficult for Poll Patchouli to
find wrork. The fame of her dancing in
the cantina had spread to the American
side of town and the one hotel seized upon
her eagerly. She was to sell the cigars at
the counter, she told Arthur with some
pride. She also suggested that they go to
a movie together. Arthur refused. "I
must not be bothered," he said, curtly.

Where were his evenings, with their
ritual solemnity? He had dedicated him-
self to a memory and he would not have
it violated — certainly not by a woman
with disturbing eyes, a woman named,
absurdly. Poll Patchouli.

Then all things great and small were
forgotten in the announcement that Rosa
I hichene and her Dancers were coming to
El Paso, en route to New York.

ARTHL'R did not sleep for three nights.
At last ... at last . . . from
half across the world the unforgotten
woman was coming back^to him! He fed
upon every least remembered grace. The
tint of her hair, the hue of her eyes, the
gestures of her hands, the sway and sweep
of her body. Someone said they had seen
her pictures being pasted up before the
theater. Someone else said they thought
Poll Patchouli resembled her. Arthur
laughed. Poll Patchouli!

The great night came and the town of
El Paso turned out in a body. Roderiquez
was there. Poll was there. At the
entrance of the theater she gave Arthur a
cigar. He thanked her abstractedly and
walked into the lobby. Roderiquez
stared after him and observed that that
guy looked "like he hadn't woke up yet."
Poll, her laugh bitter, agreed with him.
"I've given him something to help him
along," she said.

Rosa Duchene and her Dancers were
giving the Ice Queen Dance. It wouldn't

rnotoplay Magazine

He would beg her favor as many times in the past, he had spurned it. Then he would tell her
this story — the story of a fool, in a fool s paradise.

have mattered to Arthur what they were giving. A miracle
had happened? The desert place had flowered at his feet —
for he had called on Rosa Duchene and had, in his arms,
carried her through the mud and rain to the theater door.

IFE had held, in that brief space of time, a sweet, too sweet,
J— ' almost a brackish taste. He had reminded her of the
overseas hospital, and the kiss. She had remembered. Her
remembrance was somewhat vague, to be sure, but Arthur
held on to the belief. She had been so afraid of the rain and
the mud, so childish about her dainty chiffons. Now and then
her voice had a plaintive note, like a spoiled baby's. How
sonorous was the voice of Poll Patchouli. He hated a woman
with a sonorous voice.

Once inside the theater he stood as in a trance awaiting the
rise of the curtain, the gratuity of Rosa's presence again.
In a trance, too, he took from his pocket the cigar Poll had given
him, lit it, absently . . . there was a sharp explosion . . .
something went smoky and blurry before him ... an old
remembered pain smote his temples, shifted to his eye-balls.

A trick cigar! His eyes! The wound overs as when, for a
long time, he had awaited a verdict of perpetual darkness. He
reared his head back savagely. It was that woman! What
had he ever done to her? Wanted of her? Desired from her?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. He was too primitive
in his psychology to know that in the nothingness lay her hurt.

Across the aisle he caught a glimpse of her after the smoke
had cleared away, away, hut not quite away. A mist still
hung before his eyes and the curtain behind which Rosa

Duchene was soon to appear. A portentous mist that meant
. . . why, it meant ... he didn't finish the thought.
Not as he had intended. He finished it by the prayer that the
fateful mist would not deepen, would not thicken until Rosa
Duchene had finished her Ice Queen Dance. He prayed that
his failing sight might not fail before the dimming of the stage
lights, that his last earthly vision might be Rosa as his last
memory would be. . . .

Poll shrank back into the shadows, but he didn't see her.
The curtain was rising and Rosa was on the stage, and then, for
the next hour, while the light of the world ebbed away from
his earthly vision, he fed the light of his mind and soul that
they might, in their turn, feed him through the dark years that
were to come. Rosa should be the sun of his day, the moon
and the stars of his night, the flowers he would not see again,
the silver running of rivers, the young green wheat, the chrome
and crimson sky. When the final curtain fell both upon the
stage and upon his eyes he groped his way from the theater
with a smile, such a smile as Poll Patchouli, aching, dared not
infringe upon.

POLL, as so many women of her type, was essentially a
masquerader. Instinctively she covered a wound with a
jest, a tear with a laugh. The next day she covered the gap
she felt within by imitating Rosa Duchene for a small and
appreciative audience. She did it exceeding well. Applause
testified to that. The face of Arthur Phelps testified to that,
too, when, entering the hotel, he heard the last whispers of
what he believed to be Rosa's voice. {Continued on page 110)

WHAT THE WELL DRESSED MAN WILL WEAF

Mr. Arbuckle brings from Paris to the readers of Photoplay an
exclusive close-up on what the French designers are about.

By
ROSCOE " FATTY " ARBUCKLE

Il'i:h apologies to Carolyn Van IVyck.

ONE of my favorite bits of litera-
ture lias always been "What
the Young Men Will Wear."
the exciting serial that has
been running in the New York theater
programs for several years. It is a
companion piece to "What the Young
Women Will Wear," though the plot
is not so complicated. These two
literary gems, between them, give the
sartorial low-down on all the latest
styles for both sexes, em-
bracing not only the last-
minute creations of Fifth
Avenue, but of Paris,
London, and Omsk as
well. If one will but
read either, or both, be-
tween the acts, no mat-
ter how punk the play,
the evening is not profit-
less and life is still worth
while.

Not long ago I asked
the proprietor of a large
Los Angeles cinema em-
porium why he did not
get in touch with l he-
author of "What the
Young Men Will Wear, "
or the author of "What
the Young Women Will
Wear" — or perhaps the
same person does both —
and secure the rights to
these brilliant works of
fiction for his program.

"What," he answered,
"would be the use? With such
exquisitely costumed ladies
as Gloria Swanson, Norma
Talmadge, and Elsie Fergu-
son and such perfectly
groomed men as Charles
Chaplin, Lawrence Semon,

A WIDE latitude .s
permitted in vests ;
even/am permitted
in one, securing my
special brand from the
manufacturer of Ring-
ling s circus tents. The
fashionable gravy shade
in vests is favored by
stout men who dine out a
lot. For the ultra-eco-
nomical, a crazy-quilt de-
sign that embraces all the
courses from soup to nuts
is coming more and more
to dominate.

Hull Montana, and yourself appearing on the screen here,
why need my audiences go further for information regard-
ing clothes?"

Well, in a way the man is right. On the other hand, the

power of the printed word is still strong, and when one has

,1 message to deliver on such an important subject as clothes

— for what one of us does not, some time in life, face the

question of clothes? — I feel that no medium should

be neglected. I, for instance, recently returned

from Paris. In the shops on the Champs d' Elysees

and the Fromage de Brie I acquired some inside

knowledge of the coming developments in men's

clothes which I do not feel at liberty any

longer to conceal.

Suppose these advance styles should
break without warning upon the masculine
world. Would I not feel guilty, a traitor
to my sex? The Editor of Photoplay
reluctantly agreed that I would, and
that it was nothing short of a duty for
me to write a screen version of "What
the Young Men Will Wear" for him,
as follows:

It is reassuring that all the Parisian
garment-makers are agreed that men's
suits will continue to be divided, like
Caul, into three parts — pants, coat,
and vest. The vest will be worn in-
side the coat, and the trousers will, as
in former years, hang from the waist
downward. Suspenders are gradually
going out — somehow they lack the
nap! However, the ultra-conservatives will
irobably follow the style set by President
Harding and wear both galluses and belts,
though this seems to be carrying caution a
bit too far. "Harding Blue" is the very
itest color in suspenders, though red will
continue to be the favorite with firemen and
motion picture cameramen.
Laundry-sharpened collars that leave the
fashionable red line around the neck will con-
tinue to be a la mode. These will be worn with
two collar buttons and one cravat.

At this point I might announce that I have
invented a new style of collar button to be known
as tne Arbuckle Non-Skid. This information,
however, must be held confidential, as I have
not as yet secured a patent right. The idea is
>rierly this: the button would be equipped on
the bottom with a rubber suction cup that would
force it to adhere to anything on which it was
placed. In other words, park it on top of your
dresser and, instead of, as formerly, rolling im-
mediately off upon the floor and under the dress-
er, my new style of button sticks like a spring
cold. No more grovelling beneath dressers after
tinerant collar buttons. No more profanity
during the dressing hour. Watch for the
Arbuckle Non-Skid. — Adv.

Cravats will be worn in front of the collar this
year, occupying the opening between the two
wintis with their ends thrust jauntily into the
top of the vest. The smart set will continue to
tie them at home, while ex-actors and Chautauqua
lecturers will buy them ready-made at the haber-
dashers. (Continued on page 101)

4''

"WHERE BILL

These pictures are your pre-view of the very
newly-built California home of Wallace and
Dorothy Davenport Reid — oh yes, and Bill!
Mrs. Reid herself really designed the house to
suit the needs of her two men-folks: Wally and
little Bill. Above: a glimpse of the entrance-
hall. The little iron stair-rail is very effective in
giving charm and distinction to the stairway.

LIVES!

To the adult world, the new
home of Mr. and Mrs. Wal-
lace Reid and son. But
to the neighborhood fel-
lers, just "Bill's House."

Mrs. Reid in her favorite
reading corner. The use
of the wicker lends a
"boudoir touch to a room
whose Keynote is ele-
gance. The enamel is a
soft grey, to match the
walls and the carpet.

The particular and per-
sonal domain of young
William Wallace Reid, Jr. :
the swimming pool and
sand pile. The walk

around the pool is in
squares of yellow and
blue to match the awn-
ings. The first five feet
of the pool is a level two
and a half feet deep,
with a tennis net across
the far end. especially de-
signed for Bill and his
friends.

The Reid home from
the boulevard in the
rear. The one-story
wing contains garage
and billiard room. The
grounds have just
been laid out. Mrs.

Reid never missed a
day on the lot while
the house was being
built. Like so many
of the film stars resi-
dences, it is in the ex-
clusive Beverly Hills
section of Los Angeles.

And here is Bill himself: the most important
member of the family, the young man around
whom the other two Reids revolve. He s
a snappy youngster, despite his gentle de-
meanor. His father says he s a roughneck!
His nursery — of course Bill calls it a play-
room— is developed in grey.

The billiard room — Wally's own
sanctum and Mrs. Reids "life-
saver. Here VVally can have his
men friends and play as much as he
likes without injuring the furniture !
The floor is cement with all the
little squares painted in different
colors. The piano is the first one
the Reids bought after their mar-
riage. When a fire is crackling on
the hearth of this man s room, and
the low lamps are lighted, it is the
most cheerful place imaginable.

The drawing room is an exceptional
room, both bf cause of its size and
because, the house being only one
room wide, it has French doors
down both sides. The walls are a
silver-grey brocade and the win-
dow draperies are grey linen with
hand-sewed designs of blue. The
Chinese rug is blue-bordered
around a tan center and the chairs
are of velvet in many colors. The
iron grills above the doorway are
very new and give a finish otherwise
lacking. Bill doesn't care much for
this room.

•"TO Galli Marie, Pauline Luc-
* ca, Minnie Hank, Selina
Dolaro, Zelie de Lussan, Calve,
Mary Garden, Marie Roze,
Bressler-Granoli, Marie Fay,
Alice Gentle, Marguerite Sylva
and Geraldine Farrar add —
Theda Bara! . . . Well, why
not? Was not Carmen a vam-

FAMOUS

GARDEN

THERE has never been a Carmen like
Mary Garden's. In her case a clever
artistry entirely dominated her feelings.
Her impersonation was necessarily a tour
deforce, for Garden couldn't possibly be a
gypsy, and not even her marvellous act-
ing and her personal lure were sufficient
to create the necessary illusion. But,
after all, do such things really matter
where "the divine Mary" is concerned?
She dresses attractively and convention-
ally— but oh, how modestly P — real-
izing, no doubt, that voluptuous and
vampiric clothes would only accen-
tuate the blondness of her soul and
her lack of gypsy blood. At times she
managed to be hoydenish, but scarce-
ly seductive; and one felt that her
aim was to portray a somewhat
primitive type, rather than a specific
personality. Consequently her Car-
men was more temperamental than
emotional, with little in common
with Merimee's seductive hussy; and
her performance was always re-
pressed in both atmosphere and
execution. However, Garden gave
this girl of Seville a self-willed nature,
although the sensuous, instinctive
passion of Carmen, as interpreted
by her, never went beyond a subtly
calculating coquet tishness.

CALVE

ALTHOUGH Galli Marie created
the role of Carmen in 1874, it was
not until twenty years later,
when the "adorable Calve" sang
the part, that Bizet's masterpiece became
an operatic fixture. Calve, indeed, is the
most famous of the vast army of Carmens.
The huge red rose she wore in her raven
hair, and the gorgeous red silk petticoat
with which she flirted so coyly and alas ! so
elegantly, are now as much a part of
theatrical lore as Marguerite's xanthous
curls and Caruso's embonpoint. Calve
overdressed the part of the gypsy tobac-
conist in all her scenes; but then, she
tread the musical boards in a florid era,
when the opera was far more artificial
than it is to-day, and when there was a
grand manner to be upheld at whatever
cost. But even so, it was hardly neces-
sary for her to bedeck herself with long
gowns a la mode, of the kind worn by
eminently respectable senoritas, on Sun-
day mornings. Calve was not exactly a
hot-blooded, sensual gypsy girl, with
spontaneous, untamed instincts. She was
capricious and flirtatious, emotional rath-
er than passionate, gesticulatory rather
than undulating. But despite her gener-
ously proportioned form, with its volu-
minous curves and hyperboles, she fused
the role with abundant energy and per-
sonal charm. And this fact, coupled with
her marvelous voice, made her memo-
rable for all time.

vampire? Voila I' affaire! Madame
Bara — as was her prerogative — had
her own ideas about Carmen — ideas
which, to say the least, gave piquancy
to the role. Hers was the most modern
Carmen we have had. No tradition for
La Bara! No paltry conventions of the
operatic stage to cramp her style! She
even smoked modern, machine-made
Turkish cigarettes, large and oval-
shaped, such as Merimee's Carmen
never saw. And her amatory technique
was of the latest histrionic fashion,
with rolling eyes, languishing inhala-
tions, and tense, undulating move-
ments. Theda's Carmen was indeed a
vampire, sensuous, passionate, and fairly
groggy with emotion. But, scoft as you
may, she looked alluring and acted
seductively.

CARMENS

SYLVA

A STRANGE and unfamiliar Carmen,
somewhat colorless and inconsistent,
but with a luscious ocular appeal, was
Marguerite Sylva. To say that this
voluptuous lady was dull would be un-
fair; for beauty is never dull; and he who
tells you that Sylva lacks pulchritude is
old and unresponsive and soured on the
world. Marguerite, too, knew that she
was alluring to the senses, and busied
herself throughout the film putting that
beauty over. The result: her
Carmen was a trifle vain and self-
conscious — a trifle conventional,
and fashioned on the lines of popu-
lar tradition. And oh, how beauti-
fully thisgypsy girl bedecked herself '.
What opulent wages the factory
girls must have received in those
early days! No wonder they never
went on strike! Withal, Sylva was
very emotional, though always in
the most approved manner. In
fact, she was too dramatic to be
wholly convincing. Hers was a
Carmen of the stage, rather than a
Carmen of a cut-throat gypsy
camp. But where there is beauty,
all is forgiven. If you dispute this,
ask the Roman senators who tried
Phryne!

<>•

■..

'.„

FARRAR

GERALDINE FARRAR
braved the terrors of the
Calve tradition, and followed
Marie Fay, the "Carmen of
the kitchen." On the operatic
stage she was too mild, though
always incisive, and one critic
remarked that her idea of a
gypsy wasasort of transplanted
Hottentot. Her performance,
however, was not devoid of

y ; ? * ;< ' h Tfr -

/ - I

traditional influences. She was coquet-
tish, hot-blooded and perverse; and, as
usual, she dressed far beyond the financial
means of a factory girl of old Seville.
But on the screen Farrar "turned loose."
Only in the closing scenes did she attire
herself lavishly; in the earlier parts of the
picture she dressed simply, though at-
tractively, in what has been described as
"a chemise bodice of an Andalusian female
of the people," with her arms entirely
bare. And she made of Senorita Carmen
a feline — one might almost say, tigerish —
creature of violent, boisterous manners,
and brutal, elemental nature. There
was physical passion in her acting, and
at all times one felt that an almost
ferocious joy of life was animating her.
But, despite her primitive power, she was
always graceful and inherently human.

AXD then came Pola Negri in "Gypsy
Blood"; and for the first time since
Galli Marie donned the Carmen mantilla
nearly half a century ago, the wayward
heroine of Merimee's novelette actually
appeared before us — a woman of flesh
and blood, of verity and conviction,
captivating and unforgettable — a gypsy
through and through, passionate, in-
stinctive, hoydenish, perverse — a dirty,
tickle, seductive, cruel, wild-blooded
creature of uncontrolled desire and prim-
itive ferocity, careless of her personal
appearance, shameless and self-sufficient,
brazenly independent. Her face and
hands and arms were soiled and grimy;
her clothes were ragged and unsightly.
And yet she was seductive, for her
seductiveness went deeper than mere
appearances: it sprang from an inner,
hidden flame of powerful desire and
wantonness. And Pola Negri made this
power felt, despite the dirt and t he
tattered aspect of her garments. Of all
the Carmens we have had, hers was the
truest, the least artificial, and the nearest
to the actuality of Merimee's conception.
It took courage and a high capacity to
portray so real and unadorned a Carmen;
but Negri's art was equal to the task,
and her role will live when the others
are forgotten, because she subordinated
herself — and her beauty even — to the
demands of an unlovely but compelling
truth.

Louis Silvers is the
first man to devote
His entire time and
energy to compos-
ing and arranging
music for the mo-
tion picture. He is
a member of D. W.
Griffith s produc-
ing organization.

C£

WITH MUSIC BY-

Being an account of the rapid growth of inter-
pretative music for motion pictures, and of the
composer who has done most to develop it.

By
FREDERICK VAN VRANKEN

MUSIC as a means of enhancing the pleasure of certain
recreations and pleasures of mankind, is nearly as old
as history. The early savages accompanied their
ceremonial dances and religious rites with crude
musical sounds. The ancient Greeks introduced music into
the recitations of poetry and dramatic readings, and thus
sowed the seed from which developed grand opera. In the
Middle Ages minstrels and peripatetic tellers of tales set their
stories to music; and with the advent of the troubadours even
the ancient art of wooing was accompanied by the soft playing
of instruments. Today we have reached a point where an
orchestra is almost necessary to our enjoyment of a meal.

Why should music have become so necessary an accessory
to our pleasures and diversions? Simply because it has the
power to express and interpret nearly all human moods and
emotions; and when these moods and emotions are accom-
panied by music which exactly harmonizes with them, their
effect is heightened and intensified.

It was inevitable, therefore, that the value of interpretative
music for motion pictures would in time be recognized; and,
although it was only a very few years ago that the first film
drama boasted its own incidental music, since then many of
the more important pictures have had orchestral scores written
especially for them. ,

A number of capable musicians have arranged music for
motion pictures, among them Carl Briel, Victor Schertzinger,
Hugo Riesenfeld and Louis Gottschalk. But the first com-
poser to create an individual technique for screen music, and to
perfect a new thematic type of instrumental interpretation for
both the characters and the actions of a motion picture, was
Louis Silvers, who wrote the music for "Way Down East" and
" Dream Street."

Mr. Silvers, in fact, is the first man to devote his entire time
and energy to this new form of art; and he is also the first

composer to serve as a permanent member, with a regular
salary, on the production staff of a motion picture organization.

The difficulties attending the writing of a motion picture
musical score are tremendous, and little does the spectator
realize how complicated is the process by which a composer is
able to make the music accord with each' step of the picture's
action, and at the same time to create a unified and smoothly
flowing score.

When writing an opera the composer has the libretto before
him, and merely follows the words and the indicated action.
The score can be played at any tempo and will still come out
correctly, for the singers and actors follow the leader's baton.
But for a motion picture the music must be timed to the
second, in exact accord with the characters on the screen.
Moreover, there are no words or lyrics in a film which merely
require an appropriate accompaniment. Every bar of the
music must be dramatic and interpretative; and not only must
it stand by itself, but it must be related to what came before
and to what is to follow

The method by which Mr. Silvers overcomes the technical
difficulties of his work is unique and interesting, and takes
many weeks of strenuous, intricate labor.

First, he studies the film, projected at ordinary speed, until
he has absorbed the general idea and atmosphere and
emotional color of the story. Then, while the film is run as
slowly as the projector will turn, he dictates a complete synopsis
of every piece of action, every entrance and exit, every change
of scene and lighting, every variation of mood and emotion,
every bit of atmosphere, so that he will have a script embodying
each minute detail of plot and characterization. Sometimes
he has to make as many as eight drafts of this script in order
to be sure that nothing is omitted. When completed, it con-
tains more words than the average long novel.

(Continued on page 105)

&HH1

T^O the pure all things are impure —
even Marie Prevost in a two-piece
bathing suit. Someone once said that
"Beauty is God's hand-writing." We
believe it. Don't misunderstand: this
is not a defense of this water baby.
She needs no defense. If this is a
"bathing picture" such as the censor-
ial-minded folks object to so strenu-
ously, then we give them up as hopeless.

Joel Feder

Freulirh

rjLADYS WALTON, in spite of the fact that she has all the traditional quali-
v-^ ficatiohs — curls, pout and poke bonnet — isn't really a flapper at all. A
saving sense of humor makes the Walton comedy-dramas pleasant things to see.

Any baby is adorable according to
its fond parents ; but personally we
prefer the Betty Compson sort, the
occasional kind -and -placid infant
who looks as though she never
cries.

A companion piece to the more
celebrated, hut no sweeter, Age
of Innocence. No matter how hard-
hearted, no one can gaze upon this
picture of three-year-old Betty
without murmuring, ' Bless her
heart or sounds to that effect.

SHE HASN'T CHANGED

A BIT

tven at the age of
twelve, she was not
so awkward as the
average sub-flap-
per. Later Betty be-
came a vaudeville
performer, and then.
by easy stages, a
screen star.

NOT all young ladies are willing to
reveal their pictorial pasts to an
eager world, but Betty Compson
doesn't mind. She's so young, you see,
that to publish a picture of her taken
a dozen years ago only brings the com-
ment, "She hasn't changed much."
Now has she? Just glance at these
pictures: Betty asa baby and Betty as
a little girl. We wish our kid pictures
were half as cute.

Today she can walk along both Broadways —
New York s and Los Angeles — and see her
name in letters six feet high : she gets letters
from perfect strangers and she owns her own
home in California. But — ^chorus) : she hasn t
changed a bit!

A scene from the
photoplay that
made her a star
overnight: Geo.
Loane Tucker s
"The Miracle
Man — show-
ing Betty Comp-
son as Rose and
Joseph Dowling
as The Patri-
arch. After this
success. Miss
Compson had
her own com-
pany, and then
signed with Par-
amount, where
she is starring
today.

FORE VER— Paramount

GEORGE FITZMAURICE'S picturization of Du Mau-
rier's romance is not a particularly faithful "Peter
Ibbetson," but it is a fine "Forever." The spirit is well
maintained, the whole leaves a pleasant, gently sad, if mild
flavor. Elsie Ferguson is exquisite as Mimse. Wallace
Reid, miscast as Gogo, almost overcomes this by a splendid
performance. It is censor-proof. By all means see it.

AN UNWILLING HERO— Goldwyn
PHERE is a quality in Will Rogers' acting which harmo-
■*• nizes perfectly with O. Henry's stories; and this noteof
harmony is evident all through "An Unwilling Hero."
Whimsical Will impersonates a tramp, "Whistling Dick,"
who becomes involved in a robbery and a Christmas party.
It is a pleasant characterization ennabling Rogers to indulge
in his quaintly sophisticated wit.

THE SIGN ON THE DOOR— First National
KTORMA TALMADGE is most effective when she is
* ^ standing at bay, her hair partly down, the left shoulder-
strap of her modish evening gown torn from its moorings,
and a high powered gun in her hand. "The Sign on the
Door" is a drawing-room melodrama which combines all of
these features; and so Miss Talmadge appears to advantage.
The cast includes Lew Cody and Charles Richman. Her-
bert Benon directed.

THE

SHADOW

STAGE

Reg. U. S. Pat. Off

A Review of the new pictures

THE NORTHERN TRAIL— Selig-Rork-Educational
""THE new two-reel feature photoplays are creating a mild
* sensation in film circles. This is the first of the series,
and merits the consideration of your entire family. From
a popular Curwood story and with a cast including Lewis S.
Stone, it is an intense, actionful drama, equaling more pre-
tentious offerings, and gaining in dramatic tensity because
of its brevity. You'll like it.

.58

LITTLE ITALY— Realart

IN "Little Italy," Alice Brady has a role eminently suited
to her temperament. She portrays an Italo-American
girl of cayenne quality, who behaves so mischievously that
her irate father decides to get rid of her at any cost. He
trots out one suitor after another, but the girl turns them
all down flat for one reason or other. Miss Brady, and
George Fawcett as the father, are both at their best.

FOOTLIGHTS— Paramount

ELSIE FERGUSON does the best work of her screen
career in "Footlights." It is a vivid and richly dra-
matic story, played ata consistently high pitch by Miss Fergu-
son and the polished Marc McDermott, and skillfully
directed by John S. Robertson. "Footlights" refutes the
ancient movie axiom that it is impossible for a picture to
combine good taste and artistic merit with box office value.

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE presents re-
views of the pictures released during
the preceding month in a conscientious
effort to be of real service. Our aim is to
assist you in saving your motion picture time
and money. In patronizing good pictures
you encourage deserving producers. It is
important for you to discourage insincerity,
mediocrity ( salaciousness, and bad taste by
refusing to patronize pictures with such qual-
ities. The reviewers of PHOTOPLAY are
unprejudiced, and are lovers of the motion
picture. While it is our belief that motion
picture producers should not be expected to
make pictures suitable for adults and children
alike, we will warn against pictures that
children should not see.

AMONG THOSE PRESENT— Pathe
TTAROLD LLOYD seldom disappoints us in the comedy
*• *■ field, his latest — a three-reel release — being no excep-
tion to the rule. It's all about a humble bell-boy who im-
personates an English lord, and quite successfully, until he
loses his dignity and his riding breeches in an unguarded
moment. Then the plot thickens, but the fun does not
slacken. Mildred Davis is most attractive.

LURING LIPS— Universal

JOHN MOROSO'S story "The Gossamer Web," entered
in the Photoplay Magazine Prize Fiction Contest, proved
excellent photoplay material. A human, appealing story
of intelligent construction, it has been given a thoughtful
interpretation and careful direction. Edith Roberts is the
wife, Darrell Foss the husband, and Ramsaye Wallace the
banker. Despite the altered title, it is a family film.

THE INNER CHAMBER— Vitagraph

A GLOOMY background is furnished Alice Joyce this
** month. Why this sudden vogue of nineteenth century
melodrama? Of course, Pedro de Cordoba can die artis-
tically, and Holmes K. Herbert can wear a sad look in a most
interesting manner, and Alice is appealing, happy or
sad, but her place is in the sun, not the shadows. Here is
an excellent cast in an average production. Author! Author!

THE MARCH HARE— Realart

r"FHERE is evidently a clause in Bebe Daniels' contract
* stating that no matter what emotions she may be called
upon to register — hate, fear, grief or exaltation — she must
not be compelled to disarrange the rosebud contour of her
lips. In "The March Hare" she never musses her mouth
once. Aside from that, the picture is a palpable starring
vehicle for her, with scant humor and an excessively thin plot.

THE CONQUEST OF CANAAN— Paramount

'T'HERE is not much to recommend in "The Conquest of
* Canaan," nor is there much to condemn. It is a pleasant
but neutral affair, with many excellent exterior scenes, taken
in the Main Street of a real town that might easily have
inspired Booth Tarkington's conception of "Canaan, Ind."
Thomas Meighan is miscast as a seventeen-year-old urchin
— but he improves as he grows up.

SHORT SKIRTS— Universal

FEW ingenue stars would attempt a role as unsympathetic
as that which Gladys Walton carries through this story.
As a selfish, vain little flapper who upsets a political cam-
paign and deserves a jail sentence rather than the handsome
hero, this young woman contributes to the screen an unusual
study in human nature, and makes entertaining an unim-
portant story. Suitable for children's viewing.

LOVETIME— Fox

\Y/E thought that old plot concerning the Marquis in dis-
" guise, the beautiful peasant girl, and the villain from
Paris and points South, had been laid away to rest. But
not so. Here it is again, with Shirley Mason its one excuse
for reappearance. We had no idea France so resembled our
dear Hollywood! If you're over sixteen, you'll probably
be bored. Possibly you will be, anyway.

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STRAIGHT FROM PARIS— Equity

TN "Straight From Paris," Clara Kimball Young portrays
* a high-born French milliner who becomes engaged to the
profligate scion of an aristocratic New York family. The
young man's mother frowns upon the union, and attempts
to discredit her son's fiancee. The latter outwits her, how-
ever, thereby demonstrating the triumph of mind over
mater. For all that, it is a mediocre picture.

:r.

Photoplay's Selection

of the Six Best

Pictures of the

Preceding Month

MOONLIGHT AND HONEYSUCKLE— Realart

THE latest Mary Miles Minter offering is not nearly so
offensive as its title would indicate; but that should not
be taken as unqualified praise. The story is a laborious
attempt at farce comedy, with a few amusing situations,
and much boredom. Miss Minter, apparently, has dis-
carded the wistful dream of her childhood, and is trying to
become another Dorothy Gish, with none too satisfactory
results.

CABIRIA

""THE revival of D'Annunzio's spectacle, "Cabiria." tends
*■ to shatter many of the illusions of youth. Viewed
through the smoked glasses of 1921, "Cabiria" shapes
up as somewhat of a back number. The acting is gro-
tesquely exaggerated, and most of the scenery flimsily
artificial. The vast marble temple bears a striking resem-
blance to soda fountains.

"FOREVER"— (Peter Ibbetson.)
AN UNWILLING HERO — (Will

Rogers)
FOOTLIGHTS— (Elsie Ferguson)
AMONG THOSE PRESENT— (Harold

Lloyd)
THE SIGN ON THE DOOR— (Norma

Talmadge)
LURING LIPS — (From Photoplay
Magazine's Prize Story Contest)

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THE KISS— Universal

A RATHER haunting story of early Californian days, not
** strong, but pleasing and offering fair entertainment.
This equals Carmel Myers' recent offerings, though she is
not convincing as a Spanish senorita. Don't bar the
youngsters.

Additional Shadow Stage reviews appear on page 93.

LIFE'S DARN FUNNY— Metro

""THIS photoplay is frivolous, inconsequential but quite
* entertaining stuff. Viola Dana as a French violinist and
Gareth Hughes as a somewhat dazed but all-American ar-
tist, whose detached manner ever gives him the appearance
of not quite belonging to this earth, serve up Greenwich
Village temperament, a la carte, and though the ending is
inevitable it's quite satisfying. A family film.

DONT NEGLECT YOUR WIFE— Goldwyn

THIS renamed picturization of Gertrude Atherton's
"Noblesse Oblige" is well told, but — . Pictures like this
do no harm, although the scenes of the old Five Points are
not for children to see; but neither do they do any particu-
lar good. Lewis Stone, a fine actor, is below par in this.
Mabel Julienne Scott is miscast. Some of the titles are
terrible. Don't neglect your wife to see it.

A VIRGIN PARADISE— Fox

IF the celluloid result is anything like the script version
of his story, Hiram Maxim had better put his own silencer
on his scenarios. But Pearl White's followers will not be
disappointed in her, if you don't mind incongruities. She
has never seen a man nor anything as modern as an electric
light, nevertheless in a few weeks she is handling a gun like
Bill Hart and wallops the villain with Jack Dempsey skill.

HERE ARE THE HERALDS OF FASHION

If you are golfing these days, or hiking, you really should wear a costume
like this. Knickers are very, very popular with ladies of all ages. Of
course, they are worn for sports. But — whisper this — 1 have heard that
very soon we shall see formal street suits with knickers! With woolen
stockings, and sturdy oxfords, and a trim coat, and a rakish little hat,
your sports costume is complete.

There is a sleeve for every mood and fancy, this autumn. You
may have the long tight sleeve, or you may have the wide
flowing sleeve. As the artist has pictured it here, the graceful
blonde prefers one essentially soft and feminine, but the pensive
brunette affects the more severely interesting sleeve. It is entirely
a matter of choice — as so many difficult things seem to be!

SMiss Van IVyck 's answers to questions will be found on page 98.

WHAT exquisite temptations these first crisp
cool autumn days are to me! It would be
so simple to keep to myself all the treasures I
have seen displayed. But I cannot let the first
fall month go by without telling you of the
things which have pleased me. Fall, I think, is
a time of inspiration. Then, if ever, do you feel
as though the world were waiting for your Alex-
andrian efforts. And the general enthusiasm
seems to have spread to the coutouriers. They
have surpassed themselves providing costumes

A most fascinating chapeau is Gidding's
turban of pink rose petals. With a deep
blue veil, what could be more demure and
interesting? It is most appropriate for a
brisk fall day, when one is wearing a
suit of dark blue or a dress of black.

Before Miss Pearl White, the cinema star, went
to Paris, I persuaded her to promise that she
would send me the very latest news from the
real center of fashion. She went a step further
and sent me this picture of her new black twill
riding habit, and her smart white coat of lamb s
wool — with herself in them.

ANNOUNCING THE MODE FOR FALL

to compete with the autumn glory. Here are
the expressions of many geniuses of line and
fabric and color, whose ambition it is to please
you. I wish to call to your particular attention
the Smartest Woman on Fifth Avenue, pictured
at the right.

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ru£jjs

There is nothing smarter than the fur shoe.
It is something new — but I prophesy that it
has come to stay. Alexandre offers this model
of natural broadtail fur. It does not lose
its original color or prove any more impracti-
cal than the leather shoes. I have a pair!

Miss White wore, to the races, this very effective
costume. It is of black twill, trimmed with a
wide ruffle of white crepe, with a cut-steel girdle.
Her cape is of black serge with white carracul
collar. The hat is a huge pompom of white
crepe and black felt. The trimming on the cape
is cut-work buttonholed at the edge.

Here is the Smartest Woman I have seen on the Avenue. Her costume
may be copied with excellent results, for it is extremely original. The
coat-dress of brown duvetyne has bands of chinchilla, a youthful neck
line, and wide, graceful sleeves. The young lady graciously permitted
herself to be sketched and confided to me that her black satin hat was
from Joseph s, as was her interesting bag of blue galihth.

Here are : first, an ingenious gold box which opens to let a little
bird — with real feathers — pop out and sing a little song, and
pop in again. Next, a little gold clock for the dressing-table.
At the lower left, an ornamental contrivance for the commonplace
key: of striped gold. Then, a deceitful vanity box, disguised as a
book. And last, but not least, an enchanting cigarette case,
with a diamond and pearl tassel and top. All of these clever
novelties from Udall and Ballon, the Fifth Avenue jewelers.

THE PERFECT LIE

Wherein it is made clear that the Game of Love is a
ladies' game. An unusal and, perhaps, daring short
story, entered in PHOTOPLAYS prize fiction contest.

By
FREDERIC ARNOLD KUMMER

Illustrated by £May WiUon 'Preston

ETTV!" exclaimed the girl who was combing her hair
before the mirror, turning sharply to her companion.
"Engaged? You don't mean it."

Yes — although it isn't announced yet."

"But — I don't understand. I thought Bob Otis — "

"Polly — " the girl on the couch drew her shapely legs be-
neath her and curled up amongst the pillows — "I'm going to
tell you something — something nobody else in the world knows,
or ever will know, I hope, except yourself. And I wouldn't
tell even you, though we have been such good pals all these
years, if it weren't for the fact that you half know, already."

"You mean — about Phil .J"

"Yes — about Phil. Xow I'm going to tell you the whole
story, so you '11 understand. But you must give me your word
of honor you'll never breathe a word of it to a living soul."

"I promise, Betty. You can trust me." The girl laid her
comb on the dressing table, and coming swiftly over to her com-
panion, put her arms about her. "You know, Betty, I always
liked Phil — and 1 thought he cared for you, too."

" He did, Polly, although I didn't have sense enough to real-
ize it. We were all a little mad, last fall, I think. You remem-
ber how we'd been going on — Sarah Pope and the rest of us.
Carrying drinks about in our vanity bags — checking our cor-
sets at dances so the boys wouldn't say we were armored cruis-
ers, and refuse to dance with us — giving our garters to men as
souvenirs — painting ourselves up like wax figures — drinking
more than was good for us, too, at times, and then sitting out
dances in dark corners, having petting parties — trying to see
how far we could make the men go. No, I haven't become a
prude. I think frankness, the kind of frankness we girls have
today, is a whole lot better than the pretended innocence our
mothers set so much store by — innocence that made it a crime
for a girl to mention the fact that she had legs, or could expe-
rience a thrill, like any other human being. But we were fools,
for all that — most of us — myself included.

"Thrills are all very well, but I'm ready to admit that some
of the dancing we did was pretty raw, although it seemed great
fun, at the time. And you can't expect to play with a man's
passions to amuse yourself, and get away with it. I guess we
were all just copying the methods of the women who do that
sort of thing for a living, and we didn't know it, or if we did,
we didn't care, although we had decent mothers and fathers
to tell us the truth. Oh yes — I'll admit I've changed a lot.
You'll see why, before I'm through.

"I met Phil long before I ever knew Bob Otis. Bob was in
his senior year at Yale, then. I knew he and Phil were friends,
but I didn't know, until afterwards, what close friends they
were. I didn't know they had grown up together, and cared
for each other like brothers — more, I guess, than most brothers
do.

" Phil and I liked each other the moment we met. We went
about everywhere together. He said he cared for me, and I
know he did. But, being a miserable little fool, I started out
to rouse the devil in him. Isn't it funny, how we girls thought
we could play with men? We all did, more or less, our crowd,
and most other crowds, too, from what I hear. Phil wasn't
any different from other men. They're all pretty much alike,
I guess. So I succeeded, that's all.

"I'll never forget the night I went to his studio. Phil
studied in Paris, you know, and is an artist to his finger-tips —
a real artist. He's going to do big things, before he gets
through. But about that night. We'd been dancing at the
Palais Royal — Sarah Pope got together the party to go — you

were along, weren't you? Of course — I'd forgotten. Then you
remember how Arthur Brent poured two pint prescriptions into
the fruit cup — an awful mixture, but we drank it — nobody
cared. I felt full of the devil, like the rest of the crowd, and
when I danced with Phil I did everything I could to tantalize
him. Pash stuff, we called it, didn't we? I hope I've got
better sense, now. The music was that way, too — you know
how that jazz stuff sets you going — meant to, I guess — and
the words — I kept singing them into Phil's ear, with cheek
against his — something about 'I want you, mah jungle —
jungle man.' You remember it, don't you? Everybody
was singing it, last year.

"When the party broke up — it was about one-thirty, I think
— I got into Phil's car. He was to take me home. When I
saw that he'd started downtown, in the direction of Washing-
ton Square, I didn't say a word. Just kept quiet, as though I
didn't know. I wasn't worried, because I had a key to the
house, and mother had gone to Lakewood for a couple of days,
anyhow. The way I felt that night I didn't care if I never got
home.

"There isn't much more to say. I'm not the only girl, I
guess, who ever did a thing like that. I thought I could take
care of myself, of course. We all did. I imagined it would be
simply ripping to see the place where Phil worked, and every-
thing. Well — I saw it — a great dark studio, full of plaster
casts and statues and old furniture. Had something more to
drink, too — some cordial Phil got out — like bottled fire. We
were a mad lot, Polly, weren't we? Thinking we knew it all.
When Phil took me in his arms, I felt as though I never wanted
to leave them — I — I was in love with him, of course, madly in
love. You and I have been pals a long time, Polly, and I
know you understand."

The girl who had been combing her hair tightened her arms
about her companion and kissed her.

"You poor kid," she said.

"Of course I couldn't bear to see Phil, after that, although
I wanted to, terribly. And he wanted to see me, too, and kept
calling up the house, but I wouldn't answer. Phil is a splendid
fellow, Polly. He'd been drinking, that night, and then, I'd
done my best to appeal to the worst side of him, just like the
rest of the crowd did. Don't you remember how Sarah Pope
used to boast she could make any man crazy about her? Why
shouldn't she — the way she danced with them? If they'd try-
dancing like that on the stage, somebody would call in the
police.

"Three weeks after that night Phil went to Run pe. I
didn't see him again, before he sailed. I just couldn't. But
I cried all night, when he left.

"Then Bob Otis came back from college, and started in to
have quite an affair with me. Of course I like him— immensely.
And then too, I wanted to forget. You know how Bob is —
impetuous — high-tempered — one of the most attractive boys
I've ever met. We went about everywhere together — that
was while you were in Italy, wasn't it? — but I didn't try any
of that pash stuff on him, the way I had on Phil. We danced,
of course, and everything, but it was — well — different. You
know what I mean.

"Before the summer was over, Bob proposed to me. Said
I was different from the other girls he knew — that I was finer,
better, more honest. Imagine how I felt. Yes— I made him
propose, of course. Not because of his money, either. I had
another reason. And, as I've told you, I liked him — every-
thing about him. Bob is a peach."

"We were all a little mad last fall, I think— checking our corsets at dances — giving our garters to men as
souvenirs and drinking more than was good for us. '

"And you accepted him?" the other girl asked.

"No. I didn't accept him. And I didn't refuse him,
either. I wouldn't give him a definite answer — just kept him
dangling, and of course, that made him more eager and atten-
tive than ever. He sent me flowers every day, and candy —
tons of it. Kept begging me over and over to say the word,
so that our engagement could be announced at once. And as
a matter of fact we weren't engaged at all — just one of those

indefinite arrangements where everybody takes it for granted
that the thing's settled, and yet nobody can say for sure.
Bob kept telling me I was an angel — an angel, Polly — just
fancy that, after what had happened, and insisting that I say
yes, but I wouldn't. I was waiting for Phil to come back
from Europe."

J' Betty! What for?"

"You'll see in a minute. Don't forget, Polly, I'd found out

rnotopiay Magazine

about Bob's and Phil's friendship. Bob told me all about it
himself — how they'd sworn, when they were kids, to stand by
each other through thick and thin — to be absolutely honest
with each other, no matter what happened — even to death.
Schoolboy stuff, in a way, but they meant it. So you can see
that I had every reason to think that as soon as Phil got back,
something would happen. And it did."

"Good Lord !" The girl who was listening with widened eyes
tightened her arm about her friend. "I — I see."

"No you don't. Not yet. But I knew that the minute
Phil got back, he and Bob would have a talk, and I knew, too,
that Bob was going to tell him about his love for me. I knew
it, Polly, because Bob had said to me the night before that was
just what he was going to do."

"And you — you — you couldn't do a thing! What a situa-
tion!"

"I didn't want to do anything. I may be a fool, Polly, but
I'm not a liar. You ought to know that. So the two of them
had dinner together, and Bob said he had asked me to be his
wife.

"Can you imagine, Polly, what that meant to Phil? Just
think — just try to put yourself in his place. He didn't want
to be a cad — I don't believe Phil could ever be that — and tell
Bob about me, and still, he felt himself in duty bound to his
friend to — well — to keep him from marrying the sort of girl I
guess he supposed I was. You see, Polly, there wasn't the
least reason why Phil shouldn't have thought my visit to his
studio wasn't the only one of that sort I'd ever made. You
know. A man would naturally think that. To other studios,
perhaps. I'd given him cause."

"What did he do?"

"He just mumbled some congratulations, said some nice
things about me he didn't mean, and changed the subject. He
was absolutely thunderstruck — unable to decide what to do.
I know, for he came to see me about it the next day."

"He came to see you? About that? Betty!"

"Yes. He called up, first, and asked if he might call. I
was expecting it. You see, Polly, I knew what I was about.
I wasn't acting blindly. So I saw him."

"He was terribly embarrassed, at first, and fenced about a
long time before he said what he meant. I didn't help him a
bit, either, although I realized perfectly well what was coming.

"Finally he said he knew he was a rotter, and all that, but
that Bob had told him about proposing to me, and that as
Bob's friend he felt he ought to advise him not to marry me —
not to marry anybody right now, in fact, that he was too
young, and ought to wait a year or two, before he made up his
mind. Then he went on to tell me how he'd promised Bob's
mother to look after him, when she died, and that he didn't
believe I was the sort of girl to make a fellow like Bob happy,
anyway — that he needed a more quiet, serious sort of wife, to —
to hold him back.

" I listened to all this, feeling mighty sorry for Phil, because
of the situation he was in, and trying, too, to make up my
mind how much of what had happened was his fault, and how
much was mine. It wasn't easy, either, but I guess I gave him
the benefit of the doubt. Then I asked him, point blank, to
tell me just why he thought Bob and I ought not to marry."

"Betty — what a simply terrible thing — "

"Why? I had to make him say it. He fumbled about a

good deal, but at last he came out with the truth. When a
man got married, he said, he naturally expected certain things
in his wife — was I able to give them? I felt like saying that if
I wasn't able to, it was as much his fault as mine, but I didn't.
I just asked him, very quietly, what he was going to do?

"He looked like a man about to be executed. 'What do you
want me to do, Betty?' he asked. I said there were only two
things he could do — either tell Bob the truth, or lie like a
gentleman. I left the matter in his hands.

"He got very red, at that, and seemed unable to answer.
'You see, Phil,' I said, 'whatever has happened' between us,
never was a part of my life, either before, or since. Except
for that one night, I can give Bob everything any other woman
could.'

"He felt terribly, when I said that, and began to walk up
and down the room. 'How can I lie, to my best friend?' he
asked — 'the man I've always played square with, and always
will.'

'Has he asked you any questions about me?' I said.
'No,' he said, Bob hadn't, but he was afraid he would —
not that Bob was the sort of fellow who would discuss the
woman he loved with any man, but that he always came to
him and asked his advice, about important matters. How
could a chap lie, he said, if his best friend asked for his ap-
proval ?

"I told him I didn't know how he could lie — or whether he
ought to lie at all. It was up to him, I said. I left the matter
entirely in his hands. But I did say that upon his answer my
whole future happiness would depend.

"We had quite a dramatic scene, Polly. I didn't rant, or
make speeches, the way they do in the theater. We talked it all
over very quietly, but my heart was breaking, just the same,
and I cried that day, too, after he left me."

"You poor dear — I don't wonder. Of course he didn't say
anything."

"Wait a minute, Polly. There's a lot more to all this than
you think. Something else began to happen, just as I ex-
pected it would. Before Phil had been back from Europe a
week, some of the old crowd began to talk. Not that they
could say anything against me, of course, but you see they
remembered how attentive Phil had been to me, before he
went away, and that we were supposed to be terribly in love
with each other. So, of course, now that he was back, they
began to gossip, to ask each other which was the lucky man,
Bob, or Phil. And of course, the minute this came to Bob's
ears, as I knew it would, he went right to Phil and asked him
what it meant."

"Betty — how simply awful! I wonder you aren't dead."

The girl among the pillows smiled. There was a strangely
happy light in her warm grey eyes.

"I knew it would all come out for the best," she said. "But
that day Bob went to see Phil, I was afraid, just the same —
so afraid that I felt horribly sick. And the funny part about
it is, I was just as much afraid on Phil's account, as I was on
my own."

"But — I don't see — "

"You will, Polly, when I get through. Bob went to see Phil
at this apartment. He wasn't angry, or anything like that, but
he just didn't understand. Phil told me all about it, later on.
Nothing much happened. Men aren't {Continued on page 95)

Popular Delusions

THAT all vamps are as bad as they're painted.
That all villains go home from work and beat their
wives.

That all villains go home from work.
That all foreigners have titles and want money.
That all Americans have money and want titles.
That all city folks are bad.
That all country folks are good.

That all screen heroines wear six diamond bracelets — three
on each arm — carry canes and Pomeranians, have French
maids, and live with their mothers.
That Hollywood is Little Bohemia.

That you can see Mary Pickford, Charles Chaplin, Lillian
Gish and Nazimova strolling down Sunset Blvd. any old time.

That all the good screen stories were used long ago.

That all college men live in rooms papered with pennants
and bathing girl photographs.

That all boarding-school girls give fudge parties.

That all old pictures are immeasurably better than thos ewe
see today.

That all producers used to be in the fur business. (Some of
them used to be in the grocery business.)

That everybody who is anybody in the movies today, began
with Griffith.

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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

The Rupert Hughes home in Hollywood : representative of the palaces the California film folks live in.

Author!
Author!

THE author, occasion-
ally, has his inning
Sometimes after the first
act on the first night of
his new play. Sometimes
when the royalties roll in,
on his best seller. Some-
times — in the movies.
Rupert Hughes, an emi-
nent author who lives up to
his advertising, is writing
and directing his own
stories for the screen.
And he lives in Holly-
wood, in a house that
looks like of one his own
sets. At the left, with his
wife and daughter. Be-
low, in his music room.

Fourteen leading makers of fine fabrics tell you

how to launder them

Tourteen famous manufacturers of washable fabrics and garments joined with the makers
of Lux in giving women the best and safest washing directions for every kind of fine fabric.

For their own protection, as well as the satisfaction of their customers, these manufac-
turers recommend the gentle Lux way of laundering.

These directions are now released in our new 20-page booklet, "How to Launder Fine
Fabrics." Send for a copy today. It is free. Lever Bros. Co., Dept.S- 10, Cambridge, Mass.

Read why the leaders in each industry advise the Lux way of laundering

SILKS

Belding Brothers make millions of yards of
silk each year. They say: "The use of a harsh
soap on pure silk is ruinous to the texture of the
fabric. We have found Lux to be ideal for washing
silks because of its great purity and gentleness. ' '

Onyx Hosiery — "We advise every woman
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Kayser "Italian" Silk Underwear —

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launder them the safe Lux way."

Max Held, Inc., maker of Forsythe Waists,
makes a million silk blouses each year. He says:
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satisfactory. If women would wash their blouses
in Lux, <)0°/o of our complaints would disappear."

David Crystal, New York's best known

maker of silk sport skirts, writes: "Washing a
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WOOLENS

Carter, famous maker of babies' knit

underwear, says: "We wish every youngmother
would wash her baby's shirts in thesafeLux way."

The makers of the famous Ascher's
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The North Star Woolen Mill Com-
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They write: "We are glad that the tests and ex-
periments we have made have demonstrated that
Lux is an ideal product for washing blankets."

The makers of Fleisher Yarns say:

"We are urging the women who buy our yarns
to wash them in Lux. The dirt dissolves ini the
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Do you k. now hoiv to dry your sweater so that it Tr;7/
k]c ep its shape f

COTTONS AND LINENS

Betty Wales Dressmakers say: "Lux pre-
serves the fine texture and color of the most deli-
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James McCutcheon & Company,

"The Linen Store," writes: "Our experience in
the laundering of fine laces and embroideries has
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Lux. We know of nothing better."

Puritan Mills is one of the largest makers
of beautiful drapery fabrics. They say: "Analysis
shows Lux to be free from any harmful agent."

Pacific Mills, the largest makers of printed
wash goods in the world, say: "We advise the
use or Lux."

Themaker of Mildred LouiseDresses

says: "The Lux wayof washing quicklyand with-
out rubbing is ideal."

Do you knotr hoiv to dry clocked stockings?
Our new booklet tells you. Send for it today.

Our new booklet tells you. Write for it today.

Is Irish Crochet fat after you press it?

Our new 20-page booklet tellsyou hoiv to "pick-up'
the design. Send for it today.

Send today for this booklet of expert
laundering advice — it is free

Address Lever Bros. Co.

Dept.S- 10, Cambridge, Mass.

Cannot injure anything pure "water alone won't harm

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

GOLDWYN

{Preset3(s

>£?».

The mother whose children

no longer seemed to want her

One of the outstanding motion pictures of all time
is Rupert Hughes' heart- gripping story of Home

SUDDENLY they have all grown up
and left her — the babies she used to
tuck in bed at night. The old house is
empty and silent. All have forgotten her.
Her birthdays pass unnoticed.

Each child has embarked on a drama of
his own. Loves, ambitions, temptations
carry them away. There are moments of
laughter and comedy, romance, adventure,
tragedy. The story of their lives sweeps
you along.

Your life — your home — your mother — as
they might have been or as they are. "The
Old Nest" will awaken deep in your heart
memories of the mother to whom you ran

with your childish troubles.

Never before has the screen touched with
such beauty and such dramatic force a sub-
ject which finds an echo in the lives of every
one of us. It is a masterpiece of a new
type — a presentation of life as it really is
with its moments of great joy and flashes
of exquisite pain. One of the most heart-
Cripping dramatic stories ever narrated.

The people in the play — You know
them, all

Mary Alden, Helene Chadwick, Cullen Landis
Dwight Crittenden, Lucille Ricksen, Richard
Tucker, Laura Lava.-nie, Robert DeVilbiss, Johnny-
Jones, Fanny Stockbridge, Louise Lovely, Buddy
Messenger, Billie Cotton, Nick Cogley, Molly
Malone, M. B. (Lefty) Flynn.

^Vmtch yourCMotion {PicturecTheatre <Jbmoun cement*

NATION WIDE SHOWING * BEGINNING

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Old Nest

Rupert Hughes

heart-gripping ^lory of Home

Dr. Frank Crane

"Hughes has taken down one wall of the American
house of today, and you walk in and know the family.
A film story of life — all bitter and sweet, and sad
and glad, and majestic and petty, and divine and
pitiful."

Fannie Hurst

writes:

"Rupert Hughes dipped his pen into his heart when
he wrote 'The Old Nest.' Seeing the picture is for
all the world like strolling through the family
album of America."

Alice Duer Miller

writes:

" 'The Old Nest' will appeal to anyone who ever
had a mother and most people have. It is real and
touching and almost incredibly without an atom of
false sentiment. I have seen it four times and
cried each time."

SeptU-

To be followed by

Rupert Hughes'

'Dangerous Curve Ahead"

DIRECTED BY

REGINALD BARKER

A Goldwyn Picture

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

VAMPS OF ALL TIMES

As seen when a modern spotlight
is turned upon ancient legends.

By SVETEZAR TONJOROFE

Fricca clung to the
old-fashioned cus-
tom of taking break-
fast with her hus-
band seven days in
the week.

FRICCA was the wife of Wotan, the All-
Father. It is recorded that she clung to
the old-fashioned custom of taking break-
fast with her husband seven days in the
week — that is, when Wotan happened to be staying at the
family mansion, Asgard Hall. But Wotan was a good deal of
a Wanderer between times. In the Sagas, the Eddas and the
Wagner operas he is shown strolling about his kingdom dis-
guised in a long dark
cloak and old slouch hat,
looking after things.

Y\ utan's habits as a
travelling man must
have had an unsettling
effect upon Fricca. Dur-
ing these trips she seems
to have taken an outing
on her own account now
and then, passing under
the name of Freya. It
was on his return from
one of these Haroun-al-
Raschid expeditions that
Wotan found Fricca
wearing a beautiful gold-
en necklace.

"Where did you get
it?" asked Wotan, some-
what disturbed.

The All-Mother re-
plied with nothing but
silence, and very little of
that. She also positively
refused to give up the
bauble.

Becoming more and
more suspicious, Wotan
called in the famous pri-
vate detective Loki, the
Sherlock Holmes of As-
gard. Disguising him-
self as a fly, Loki buzzed
into Madame's chamber
through a crack in the
roof. He found Fricca
fast asleep with the neck-
lace around her milk-
white throat. He saw at a glance, however, that he could not
get it without waking her, because she was King on the clasp.

Loki then hurriedly disguised himself as a ilea and bit her on
the cheek, which caused her to turn in her sleep. Then Loki
unsnapped the lock and took the necklace away with him.

Pursuing this clue, the great detective traced the necklace to
four dwarfs — Alfrig, Dvalin, Berling and Grer — who kept a
silversmith's establishment in a cellar in the Main Street of
Asgard and up to that time had enjoyed the patronage of all
the gods.

The most careful examination of their books under duces
tecum proceedings, however, failed to disclose any money
entry in payment for the necklace, either from Fricca, alias
Freya, or from any of the neighbors.

Loki was about to do the last thing any detective ever does,
and admit he was wrong, when his keen eyes fell on a memo-
randum slip on which was jotted down the tell-tale line:

"For good and sufficient value received . . . one sixty-
carat gold necklace, to Madame F."

Things now began to look black for Freya; but after a dis-

IV— FRICCA

passionate weighing of all the evidence in the
case, Wotan ordered his counsel to discontinue
the proceedings. The impression prevailed in
the Valhalla Club that Wotan had been success-
fully vamped.

This mysterious transaction apart, Fricca, when she was not
travelling under the name of Freya, appears to have earned
the reputation of being a good wife and mother.

Among Fricca's house-
hold pets was a German
tribe called the Winiler,
who were trying to wrest
a home-rule measure
from the Vandals, the
Ambri and the Assi,
who were taxing them
without granting them
representation. Hav-
ing declared an Easter
revolution, the Winiler
were about to be at-
tacked by the Vandals
and their friends.

In advance of the bat-
tle, the chiefs of the Van-
dals, the Ambri and the
Assi, appeared before
Wotan as he sat on his
throne, his flaxen beard
spreading over half the
floor of the throne room.
They promised all sorts
of sacrifices on his altars
if he would help them
crush the Winiler and
put an end to the home-
rule movement.

"I am not so sure
about that," responded
Wotan thoughtfully, tip-
ping back his golden
crown and scratching his
forehead. "You see,
Her Majesty the Queen,
our beloved All-Mother
is very favorably dis-
posed toward the Winiler
on account of their extreme gentleness. Let's see . . . F-e-e,
fi fo fum!"

Then, an idea coming into his massive head, he touched the
buzzer on the arm of his throne. It was Brunhild who re-
sponded to the summons.

"Mead for the gentlemen," ordered Wotan with true North-
ern hospitality. When they had been served he announced:
"The battle is going to be won by the army that I first lay
eyes on when I wake up tomorrow morning. My bed faces the
east windows. A word to the wise ought to be sufficient."

And he dismissed them with a benevolent nod, gathered up
his beard and moved with great dignity out of the throne-room.
That night at bedtime Wotan committed the indiscretion of
telling Fricca about the arrangement. Fricca at first pretended
not to care; but when she heard Wotan snore soundly and had
made sure that the snoring was sincere, she got up, crept out
of bed, tiptoed to an armchair, and sat there for a long time,
wringing her hands and weeping silently.

Suddenly she stopped crying, smiled, glanced at the sleeping
Wotan, put on a fresh boudoir cap, (Continued on page 84)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

When Eyes A re Close

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

How to Keep
Your Hair Beautiful

Without Beautiful Well Kept Hair
You can never be Really Attractive

STUDY the pictures of these beau-
tiful women and you will see just
how much their hair has to do with
their appearance.

Beautiful hair is not a matter of
luck, it is simply a matter of care.

You, too, can have beautiful hair
if you care for it properly. Beautiful
hair depends almost entirely upon
the care you give it.

Shampooing is always the most im-
portant thing.

It is the shampooing which brings
out the real life and lustre, natural
wave and color, and makes your hair
soft, fresh and luxuriant.

When your hair is dry, dull and
heavy, lifeless, stiff and gummy, and
the strands cling together, and it feels
harsh and disagreeable to the touch,
it is because your hair has not been
shampooed properly.

When your hair has been sham-
pooed properly, and is thoroughly
clean, it will be glossy, smooth and
bright, delightfully fresh-looking, soft
and silky.

While your hair must have frequent
and regular washing to keep it beau-
tiful, it cannot stand the harsh effect
of ordinary soaps. The free alkali in
ordinary soaps soon dries the scalp,
makes the hair brittle and ruins it.

That is why leading motion picture
stars and discriminating women use
Mulsified Cocoanut Oil Shampoo.
This clear, pure and entirely grease-
less product cannot possibly injure
and it does not dry the scalp, or make
the hair brittle, no matter how often
you use it.

If you want to see how really beau-
tiful you can make your hair look, just

Follow This Simple Method

FIRST, wet the hair and scalp in
clear, warm water. Then apply
a little Mulsified Cocoanut Oil Sham-
poo, rubbing it in thoroughly all over
the scalp and throughout the entire
length, down to the ends of the hair.

Rub the Lather In Thoroughly

TWO or three teaspoonfuls will
make an abundance of rich,
creamy lather. This should be rubbed
in thoroughly and briskly with the
finger tips, so as to loosen the dan-
druff and small particles of dust and
dirt that stick to the scalp.

When you have done this, rinse
the hair and scalp thoroughly, using
clear, fresh, warm water. Then use
another application of Mulsified.

You can easily tell, when the hair
is perfectly clean, for it will be soft
and silky in the water.

Rinse the Hair Thoroughly

THIS is very important. After the
final washing the hair and scalp
should be rinsed in at least two
changes of good warm water and
followed with a rinsing in cold water.

After a Mulsified shampoo, you
will find the hair will dry quickly
and evenly and have the appearance
of being much thicker and heavier
than it is.

If you want to always be remem-
bered for your beautiful well-kept
hair, make it a rule to set a certain
day each week for a Mulsified Cocoa-
nut Oil Shampoo. This regular week-
ly shampooing will keep the scalp
soft, and the hair

Every advertisement in TCIOTOrLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

QUESTIONSl

AND

ANSWERS

■yOU do not have to De a subscriber to Photoplay
-*■ Magazine to get questions answered in this Depart-
ment. It is only required that you avoid questions
that would call for unduly long answers, such as
synopses of plays, or casts of more than one play. Do
not ask questions touching religion, scenario writing or
studio employment. Studio addresses will not be
given in this Department, because a complete list of
them is printed elsewhere in the magazine each month.
Write on only one side of the paper. Sign your full
name and address; only initials will be published if
requested. If you desire a personal reply, enclose self-
addressed stamped envelope. Write to Questions an(^
Answers, Photoplay Magazine, 25 W. 45th St.,
New York City.

OB BY E. — You wish my opinion of a
girl sixteen years old, wishing to be-
come a movie actress. My dear I
am a gentleman.

Janet. — Thanks for the gum, but I don't
chew. However, I took it home to my
cat. Harold Goodwin, Fox. John Bowers,
Goldwyn. John is married; Harold isn't.

Consuelo, L. G. — You say your heart is
broken. What did you do with the pieces?
Carol Dempster is not related to D. W.
Griffith, or Mr. Griffith's brother, Albert
Grey. But she went abroad with Mr. and
Mrs. Grey. She uses her own name on the
screen and was a well-known Denishawn
dancer before entering films. Her first ap-
pearance was as a dancer in " Intolerance-"
She is in New York now, but is not work-
ing at present. Griffith, for whose organ-
ization she acts, is making "The Two Or-
phans" now, in which neither Carol nor
Ralph Graves appears. Lillian and Doro-
thy Gish and Joseph Schildkraut are the
principals in it. Schildkraut is the young
Roumanian actor whose performance in the
Theater Guild's production of Franz Mol-
mar's play, "Liliom", was the sensation of
the past season.

Jane S., Texas. — You wish to know the
color of Clara Kimball Young's hair when
she was in Nashville, Tennessee, sometime
in March, 1921? Her hair then was the
same color as it is now, and always has
been: dark brown.

Miss 0 'Grady. — Perhaps it is because
Marguerite Clark makes a picture so seldom
that you don't see more about her. How-
ever, Photoplay published several pic-
tures and two stories about her when she
was making her latest picture, "Scrambled
Wives". We'd be only too glad if she
made more. She is living on her hus-
band's— H. Palmerson Williams' — farm
near New Orleans, La., now.

Edwina. — You are going to start a hair-
dressing parlor? How nice! May I ask
it you are going to advertise "Lips Curled.
Doors Banged"? Lew Cody was born in
1885. He is unmarried. Dorothy Dalton
was once Mrs. Cody. Lew has been in
vaudeville, but he is back in Hollywood
riow preparing to make more pictures.

M.S. — John Ruskin said:— "We are not
sent into this world to do anything into
which we cannot put our hearts. " The
geniuses of the earth are those who put
their hearts into it. Earle Williams did
not appear in "Ducks and Drakes." Jack
Holt was Bebe Daniels' leading man in that.

Mary Pickford Forever. — You are
very faithful; but who wouldn't be faithful
to Mary? Here is the cast of "Through
the Back Door": Jeanne Bodamere, Miss
Pickford; Hot tense Reeves, Gertrude Astor;
Elton Reeves, Wilfred Lucas; Marie, Helen
Raymond; Jacques Lanvain, Norman Ham-
mond; Margaret Brewster, Elinor Fair;
James Brewster, Adolphe Menjou; Conrad,
Peaches Jackson; Constant, Doreen Turner;
Billy Boy, John Harron.

Their Bad Habits

BILL HART: that fixed "Hands Up"
look.
Katherine MacDonald : that hard-
working hauteur.

Wallace Reid: those elliptical eye-
brows.

Viola Dana: that painful pout.

Elsie Ferguson: that how-dare-you-
sir stuff.

Douglas Fairbanks: that — you guessed
it — eternal grin.

Carol Dempster: those Gish-Marsh
movements.

May Allison: that injured-innocence
expression.'

Mae Murray: that cabaret complex
involving decolletage ne plus ultra.

Universal: Eric von Stroheim.

Cecil B. deMille: boudoir sets.

Griffith: the chased heroine.

Nazimova: directing.

R. T., Ridgewood. — It is easier to tell
how to be clever than to be clever and not
tell it. Gladys Walton is married. She's
seventeen. "Short Skirts" is a recent
Walton release. Elaine Hammerstein in
"The Girl from Nowhere."

Rosalthea. — Was the original intention
to call you Rosalie Theodora? Niles Welch
is thirty-three; he is married to Dell Boone.
They have no children. Claire Adams and
Robert McKim, B. B. Hampton Produc-
tions, Hollywood, Cal.

Virginia Neil. — I am going to inaugu-
rate a new department, which will be run
right in these columns. No questions will
be answered. But emotions will be stifled,
eyes narrowed, laughs provoked, wits
sharpened (if possible), remarks pointed, and
chances thrown away. Will you be the
first contributor? "The Affairs of Anatol "
is released. Wallace Reid's hair isn't
naturally curly, but it is specially curled
for "Peter Ibbetson," which you will see
on the screen as"Forever" — at least, that's
what they're calling it today. It may be
something else again tomorrow.

H. C. S. — Your impression of New York
reminds me of a slightly worn, but almost
as good as new, story about the Iowa tourist
who stood upon the California shore and
gazed at the Pacific. ' Well, Uncle," said
the Native Son, "what do you think of the
ocean?" "It's pretty," was the reply.
"But," rather wearily, "it ain't as big as
I thought it would be." Constance Binney
was born in 1809 and has been making
pictures since 1918. She and sister Faire
made their film .debuts in Maurice Tour-
neur's "Sporting Life."

A. W. B., Montreal. — I am sorry you
have had to wait so long for an answer.
But I really am rather busy, between eight
a. m. and ten p. m., and your letter must
have arrived during that time. Viola
Dana? Well, she was born in Brooklyn in
1898, is five feet eleven inches tall, weighs
96 pounds, went on the stage at the age of
eleven, is the widow of director John Collins,
and is with Metro, Hollywood, Cal. Short,
and snappy — just like Viola.

E. T., Charlotte, N. C. — No. I don't
take after my father, but he takes after me
sometimes. Agnes Ayres doesn't give her
age for publication, but she is about twenty-
three, I think. She was recently divorced
from the husband nobody knew she had —
Captain Frank Schuker. Anna Case is not
making any pictures. Norma Talmadge
was born in May, 1895, and married in
November, 1916.

Charles. — You want Rudolph Valen-
tino on the cover ior a change? I don't
think Rudie would want to be on the cover
for anything. Besides, we never have men
on the covers. If we ever decide to have
men on the covers, I'll be the first man.
Valentino is now playing in "The Sheik,"
having been loaned by Rex Ingram to
Lasky for one picture. Agnes Ayres plays
opposite him. Good team, eh? Dorothy
Gish is twenty-three, has fair hair, is five
feet two inches tall, has blue eyes. I may
deserve sympathy — but do I get it? Occa-
sionally.

K. S. J., West Philadelphia. — The
players in " Blind Wives" were Estelle Tay-
lor, Marc McDermott, Harry Sothern,
Sally Crute, Robert Schable, and Annett
Bracy. Is that all? I am surprised.

Muggins. — Sometimes I wake in the
dead hours of the night, pluck at the cover-
let," and moan: "Charles Ray's eyes are
brown. Brown, I say! Didn't you know}"
And his hair, too, although I don't dream
that so often. Ray was born in Jackson-
ville, 111., in 1891. He is married to a non-
professional.

Joe. — I've heard a rumor that Barbara
Bedford is to star for Fox. I think she is
very sweet and pretty, and a good little
actress. She is twenty and unmarried.
She appears with Florence Lawrence in
"The Unfoldment."

v^uestions and Answers

{Continued)

body and anybody can do the work that I
do, the way I do it, in the short time I do
it, still — Richard Barthelmess is with In-
spiration Pictures, 565 Fifth Avenue, New
York City.

Mrs. J. O. — I think the highest price
ever paid for land in America was $8,000 a
square foot, or $960,000 for 1,200 square
feet of soil at 18 Wall Street. That is why
I never have bought a home for myself and
my canary. I have never been able to
afford really good land, and I won't have
any other kind. Tom Moore was Alice
Joyce's first husband. He is married to
Rene Adoree now; and Alice to James
Regan. Alice Joyce Moore, daughter of
Alice and Tom, is five years old. The
Wallace Reids (sounds like a society col-
umn) have one son, Bill. Warren Kerrigan
isn't married. He is making a new picture.

Thirteen. — It's unlucky, but if you can
stand it, I can. Agnes Ayres' real name
is Agnes Hinkle. She has one brother, who
is married and has a little girl named Agnes
Ayres. Address Agnes Ayres — the first —
at Lasky studios.

Wallace. — You pain me. I a Miracle
Man, indeed! I'm not saying tliat every-

Genevieve. — You want something good
to read? I would suggest that you read
the rules at the head of my department.
It may not be good reading, but there's a
chance that it may be instructive. Of
your questions about me, there is only one
I can answer. That is, " How old are you?"
Answer: I am not old at all. Bryant
Washburn and Lois Wilson in "It Pays to
Advertise. "

Louise P., Fort Wayne. — Thank you
for your nice little letter. You like Lillian
Gish and don't think she is popular enough.
I'll have to look into it right away. I like
her well enough to make her awfully popu-
lar. Lillian is at the D. W. Griffith studios,
Mamaroneck, N. Y. I think she'll answer
you. Tell her I asked her to. I don't
know what good it will do, but tell her.

Faye M. — Yes, they are wearing fur
shoes now. Miss Van Wyck told me about
it. I don't mind telling you that, but I
can't tell you any more, because the fashions
come under her department, not mine; and
besides, who am I to discuss fashions?
Jackie Coogan will make more pictures.
Jewel Carmen in "Nobody." Ruth Ro-
land was born in 1893; Clara Kimball
Young in 1890.

R. G., Manila. — I am deeply grateful for
your consideration of me. You say: "I
hope that when this reaches you, you will
be very well — in order that you may answer
my questions." That's what makes me
cynical. That's what makes me know that
my noble efforts are never appreciated.
Of course I've known it for some time, but
it needs a letter like yours to convince me
all over again. Have no information about
Agnes Emerson and William Marion. As
substitutes I offer, hoping that they will
take it good-naturedly: Frances Marion
and John Emerson. May Giraci, Metro.
Eva Novak, Fox. May McAvoy, Realart.
(Continued on page 109)

OCTAVUS ROY COHEN

contributes one of the greatest
short stories of the year in the
November ^Photoplay. Do not
miss it. It's worth waiting for.

THE END OF THE ROAD

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Frances White Elijah, Chicago
War Worker, whose photoplay,
"The One Man Woman," won
First Prize of $2,500. Mrs. Elijah
writes:

"You ran understand how grate-
ful I feel to Mr. Rend for giving me
an opportunity to succeed and how
thankful I am to the Palmer insti-
tution for having given me a training
which made the success possible.'1

A. Earl Katjffmak, Secretary to
the Mayor of York, IYnn.-i., whose
photoplay, "The Leopard Lily,"
won Second Prize of 81,500. Sir.
Kauffman writes:

"I didn't win the $1,500 prize.
The Palmer Plan iron it. But I'm
going to spend i

Anna B. Mezqttioa, of San Fran-
cisco, short story writer and poet,
whose photoplay, "The Charm
Trader," won Third Prize of $1,000.
Mrs. Mezquida writes:

"J should riot have known how to
go about preparing an acceptable
scenario without the Palmer Plan to
point the way. Screen technique is
so different from that of the short
story that they must be learned
separa'ely."

The Palmer Photoplay Corpora-
tion is primarily a clearing house for
the sale of photoplays to producers.
It is the industry's accredited agent
fo." getting the stories without which
production of motion pictures cannot
go on.

Its Department of Education is a
faininT school for the development
of me i and women whose ability is
worta training. This department is
literally combing the country for the
right kind of story telling talent.

Advisory Council

Thomas H. Ince

as H. Ince Studios

C'El IL B. DE MlLLE

Director General Famous Players-

Lasky Corp.
Lois Werer

Lois Weber Productions, Inc.
Jesse L. Laskv

Vice-President Famous Players-

Lasky Corp.
C. Gardner Sullivan

Author and Producer
FmxK E. Woods

Chief Supervising Director Famous

Players-Lasky Corp.
James Ft. Quirk

Editor and Publisher, Photoplay

Magazine

AU« DWAN

Allan Diran Productions
Rob Wagner

Author and Screen Authority

Palmer students capture every prize

All three winners in the J. Parker Read, Jr., $o,(>00 scenario
contest attribute their success to the Palmer Course and Service.

The Palmer Photoplay Corpora-
tion construes the success of these
three students, against a field of
nearly 10,000 scenarios submitted, as
complete justification for every claim
its advertising has made.

You have read that advertising.
You know that it has always been our
confident claim — and we now renew
it with increased faith — that any per-
son possessed of creative imagination,
or story telling ability, can be devel-
oped into a writer of saleable scenarios
by the Palmer Course 'and Service.

That story-telling gift, which we
have discovered in farm houses, city
offices, average homes and industrial
plants, often exists unknown to its
possessor until it has been revealed by
the unique test which we require of
every applicant before accepting en-
rollment for the Course.

Developing native story
telling ability

The Palmer Photoplay Corporation
did not endow Mrs. Elijah, Mr. kauff-
man, and Miss Mezquida with their
gift; no human agency could do that.
What the Course and Se vice did was
to develop it — to teach these students
how to use native ability to their last-
ing satisfaction and profit; and they
took the training at home during their
spare hours.

And what we did for these three, we
have done for many others who are
today enjoying fame and income as
successful photoplay wrights.

Will you let us test you, free?

If you have ever felt the urge to tell a
story for the screen, this may prove
the most interesting offer you ever
read. In its nation-wide search for
story-telling ability suited to the
screen, the Palmer Photoplay Cor-
poration will gladly send you without
cost or obligation the Van Loan
Questionnaire. It is the test that
started the three photoplaywrights
whose pictures appear on this page on
the road to success. From it, we can
tell you whether or not you possess
the talent we seek. The test is con-
fidential. If you lack the requisite
ability, we shall frankly tell you so.
We accept for training only those who
show real promise of success. It will
be a waste of their time and ours for
children to apply.

We invite you to send for the Van
Loan Questionnaire. It may open the
way to fame and fortune, and estab-
lish you in the most fascinating
industry in the world. Use the
coupon below, and do it before you
forget.

With the <|uestionnaire we will send you a free sam-
ple copy <jf The Photodramatist, official organ of the
Screen Writer's Guild of the Author's League, the
photoplaywrighfs magazine.

PALMER PHOTOPLAY Corporation, Dept. of Education, P. 10

124 West 4th Street, Los Angeles, Cal.

Please send me. without cost
or obligation on my part, your
questionnaire. I will answer
the questions in it and return
it to you for analysis. If I pass
the test. 1 am to receive fur-
ther information about your
Course and Service. Also send
free sample copy of the Photo-
dramati.st.

NAME-

Address -

When you write to advertisers ulease mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

The thirteen Trebaol children, whose mother takes them to their respective studios every morning and calls for them at

night. Nine of them appear in pictures regularly to attract the attention of a missing father, who disappeared two years ago.

They are : Jeanette, 6; Isabella, 8; Philip, 9; Francois, 10; Maria, 11 ; Anne, 13 ; Yves, 14 ; Eduoard, 17; Yvonne, 18; Cecile,

23; Oliver, 21; Irving, 20; and Jean, 25. Little Jeanette has played with Mary Pickford and Will Rogers.

Inlays and Jp/ayers

Real news and interesting comment
about motion pictures and motion picture people.

THEY were going to call "Peter
Ibbetson," in its film form, "The
Love Dream." Then somebody —
probably the office boy— suggested
that "The Great Romance" was a great
title — in fact, it always had been a great
title. So they have decided to call it that.
Today, that is.

And in place of Mrs. Dean, the English
woman who helps Du Manner's plot along
considerably, Paramount has introduced a
Spanish senorita, played by Dolores Cassi-
nelli. Why? Don't ask us.

Yes, we thought so. The "final title" is,
at the time of going to press, "Forever."

A CERTAIN film company gives advance
showings of its new pictures to a few
privileged reviewers. Upon the occasion of
the celluloid debut of a slightly-known
comedian, the various members of the pub-
licity staff were called into the department
head's private office.

"Listen," he said, "I want all of you
people to go in there when we're showing
that picture to the press. And I want you
to laugh, understand? Whether you feel
like it or not?"

They laughed, whether they felt like it
or not. And the scheme worked, for the
reviewers' reviews were not nearly so icy
; s they might have been — if the poor press-
agents hadn't tickled their risibilities with
hee-haws and ho-hos to order.

By
CAL. YORK

CARMEL MYERS is making a serial—
for Yitagraph.

The dusky Miss Myers completed her
Universal contract — and left the lot where
she had worked for many months.

Well, we always have thought that Miss
Myers' abundant gestures and flashing eyes
were a little too strenuous for the fragile
vehicles in which she has been appearing.
But in a serial, Carmel can cavort to her
heart's content.

THE engagement of Rex Ingram and
Alice Terry, predicted some time ago by
Photoplay Magazine for the first time,
has been officially announced by the in-
terested parties. The wedding will take
place shortly — probably immediately fol-
lowing the completion of the present Rex
Ingram production, "Turn to the Right,"
in which Miss Terry plays the leading role.
Mr. Ingram then expects to go to Europe to
make several pictures — and Miss Terry is
to retire from the screen, that being her wish
as well as that of her fiance.

Mr. Ingram and Miss Terry have played
as pretty a romance off the screen as they
conceived on it. Mr. Ingram chose his
future bride from the extra ranks to play in
a production of his and later cast her for
the leading part in his now famous film,
"The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse."
It was during the making of this picture that
a love affair began and ripened.

HC. WITWER — who does these clever
• baseball and war yarns — is one emin-
ent author that doesn't claim to have made
a fortune from films.

"I get a wire every now and then from
some firm saying, will you take $20,000 for
such and such a story? I always wire back
'yes' and then I begin to spend the money.
But I never hear anything more — so I
decide that they've read the darn thing and
run out on me," says Mr. Witwer.

GOVERNOR NATHAN MILLER of
New York has appointed his censors,
and the picture producers are enjoying
comparative peace and quiet. Before the
three who are to pass upon the Empire
State's future entertainment were named,
the industry was more or less uneasy. Now
that they know— well, it's never so bad
after that.

They are George H. Cobb of Watertown,
N. Y., a former Lt. Governor; Mrs. Eli T.
Hosmer of Buffalo, vice-chairman of the
State Congress of Mothers, and Joseph
Levenson, a Republican leader and a
director of the Young Men's Hebrew
Association. The appointments are for
one, three, and four years, the longest term
going to Mr. Cobb, and the short term to
Mr. Levenson. The censorship applies to
all motion pictures shown in and produced
in New York State after August 1.
{Continued on page 80)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

To protect your skin, one cream — to
cleanse it, an entirely different cream

Every normal skin needs these two: for daytime use, a dry
cream that cannot reappear in a shine — at Night, a cream
made with the oil necessary to keep the skin soft and pliant

These two creams are totally differ-
ent in character ana the results they
accomplish are separate and dis-
tinct. Tour skin must have both if
it is to keep its original loveliness.

For daytime use — the cream
that will not reappear in a shine

'VTOU must protect your skin

■1 from sun, wind and dust or it will
protect itself by developing a tough
florid surface.

Make a point of always applying
Pond's Vanishing Cream before you
go out. It is based on an ingredient
famous for its softening effect on the
skin. The cream disappears at once,
affording yourskin an invisible protec-
tion. No matter how much you are
out of doors, it will keep your skin
smooth and soft.

When you Powder, do it to last. The
perpetual powdering that most women
do is so unnecessary. Here is the sat-
isfactory way to make powder stay on.
First smooth in a little Pond's Vanish-
ing Cream — this cream disappears en-

__, For the nightly cleans-

ing, use Pond's Cold Cream
— the cream tuith an oil base.

tirely, softening the skin as it goes.
Now powder. Notice how smoothly
the powder goes on — and it will stay
on two or three times as long as usual.

This cream is so delicate that it can
be kept on all day without clogging
the pores and there is not a drop of
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Furthermore, this protective cream,
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At night — the cleansing cream
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Cleanse your skin thoroughly every
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In the daytime use Pond s
Vanishing Cream 10 pro-
tect your skin against sun,
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PONDS

Cold Cream &

nessand freshness. Only cream made
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the dust and dirt that bore too deep
for ordinary washing to reach. At
night, after washing your face with
the soap you have found best suited to
it, smooth Pond's Cold Cream into the
pores. It contains just enough oil to
work well into the pores, and cleanse
them thoroughly. Then wipe the cream
gently off*. You will be shocked at the
amount of dirt this cleansing removes
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lowed to remain in the po es,the skin
becomes dull and blemishes and black-
heads appear.

Start using these two creams
today

Both these creams are too delicate in
texture to clog the pores and they will
not encourage the growth of hair.

They come in convenient sizes in
both jars and tubes. Get them at any
drugor department store. If you desire
samples first, take advantage of the
offer below. The Pond'sExtract Com-
pany, New York.

GENEROUS TUBES— MAIL COUPON TODAY
1

The Pond's Extract Co.,
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Ten cents (loc) is enclosed for your special introduc- I
tory tubes of the two creams every normal skin needs— |
enough of each cream for two weeks' ordinary toilet uses. |

Name . J

Street.
City—

State-

When you write to advertisers phase mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Plays and Players

(Continued from page 78)

Who will play "Peter Pan?" Can you see any one of these children in the

role? Director John Robertson went to England to confer with Sir James

Barne about the pictunzation of Barries classic, and was besieged by youthful

applicants at the Paramount British studios at Islington.

PEARL WHITE has always been per-
sistent in her refusal to permit the public
to peek into her affairs.

Until she got a divorce from her husband,
Wallace McCutcheon.

You can keep a marriage out of the papers
but you can't always soft-pedal a divorce.
So when Pearl appealed to the courts to let
her be Miss White again, the greatest part
©f her public was a bit surprised.

McCutcheon was a major during the war,
when Miss White met him. He played in
many of her serials and later in her Fox
feature dramas.

Her first husband was Victor Sutherland,
an actor of some prominence.

Oh, well — now she can have her big white
house at Bayside all to herself. It's a peach
of a place, the Pearl White estate — there
are acres of it, with a private beach, and
kennels, and stables. She's one of the few
motion picture stars who boasts a butler —
a real butler, who doesn't spoil things when
important guests are coming.

FLORENCE DESHON, a pretty film
villainess who has recently been seen
with Goldwyn and Fox productions, has
forsaken the silver sheet to become second
woman for the Wilkes Stock Company in
Los Angeles. Miss Deshon is a member
of the rather exclusive — and intellectual —
set of which Charles Spencer Chaplin is
the chief glory.

THOMAS S. WALSH, the director, was
one day this summer walking down
Broadway. It was hot and Walsh wore
white flannels and spotless shoes. A
friend met him and kidded him. "Lily
white is the name for you!"

Walsh smiled. Then he shook his head.
"There was never a spotless^' lily white'
man on Broadway — except one. And he's
gone."

"Who was that?" asked his friend.

"Bobby Harron," replied Walsh. "If
there was ever a clean, pure soul in a man,
that soul was Bobby Harron's. He had
the highest ideals, and he lived up to them.
If there is a heaven, and God's on his
throne, Bobby Harron will be in the cast,
make no mistake about that."

HOPE HAMPTON, in July and August,
made personal appearances in the
New York theaters. She sang three songs
charmingly — she has, really, a beautiful
lyric soprano — and the audience had called
her back for an encore. She began to talk
to them — spontaneously, for all her speeches
are impromptu.

" I want to thank you all," she said. " I've
had as much fun as you seem to. But —
you know I do like my matinees better. I
like them because there are always lots of
kids in the audience. At night, now, by
the time I come on, all the children have
gone, it's so late: I "

Just then a small voice piped out from
somewhere in the pit. "I'm here, Hopie!"
it said. "I stayed to see you!"

ONE of Conway Tearle's former wives is
suing him for more alimony. We for-
get which one. She says Conway is getting
more money from the company for which
he is making pictures than he has ever re-
ceived before in his career — and she wants
some of it. Mr. Tearle's salary is said to
be SI, 750. He is said to get it. We dislike
to be sordid — but does he really get the
money? If he does — $1,750 a week — he
is very, very fortunate. Some of the not-
so-celebrated are contributing their services
to the same company and receiving con-
siderably less, if anything.

THEDA BARA just won't be interviewed.
Particularly by Photoplay.

The Editor of this Magazine thought she
might have something of interest to tell her
motion picture public after being away so
long. But when approached by a repre-
sentative upon the subject, Miss, or should
we say, Madame Bara, flatly refused to be
interviewed.

Perhaps she isn't going to make any more
pictures. Perhaps she doesn't care to talk
about her new husband, Charles Brabin,
her erstwhile director, for publication.
Perhaps she remembers — after many years
■ — the interview written by Delight Evans
in Photoplay, "Does Theda Bara Believe
Her Own Press Agent?" and the letter she
wrote to Miss Evans saying that there was
one who avenged all lies, insults and be-

trayals— she having construed the truthful
statements of facts as "betrayals." And
perhaps she even remembers the more
recent interview of Agnes Smith, called
"The Confessions of Theda Bara," in which
Miss Smith brilliantly set forth the truth
about Miss Bara — the truth as Miss Smith
saw it — that Theda Bara was a remarkable
woman, that she had permitted the wild
press stories to go out about her for business
reasons, and that she was good to her
family. These things were not sugar-
coated; and apparently Miss Bara likes
sugar.

So if you want to read something new
about Theda Bara, and what she's going to
do for the screen in the future, if anything —
you'll have to be disappointed. For she
simply won't be interviewed.

ENRICO CARUSO, the world's greatest
tenor, died August 2nd, at the age of
forty-eight, in his beloved Italy.

Caruso's health had been poor ever since
he burst a blood vessel while singing last
winter at the Brooklyn Academy of Music.
He was stricken with pleurisy soon after,
and it was thought he would not live until
spring. He rallied, however, and was soon
well enough to journey to Italy, where he
planned to rest and recuperate at one of his
four villas in his native country. He was
apparently on the road to recovery when
he had a sudden relapse which made an
operation imperative. He died in Naples.

His widow was, before her marriage,
Miss Dorothy Park Benjamin, daughter of
a well-known New York lawyer, who was
said to have objected strongly to her be-
coming Mrs. Caruso, but later relented
when little Gloria Caruso was born. The
baby accompanied her parents to Italy.

Caruso made two photoplays for Famous
Players. "My Cousin" showed him in a
dual role.

Through the films and the phonographs,
Caruso of the golden voice and genial smile
still lives.

FRANCES MARION has left the Inter-
national studios. She has stopped work
for a while, and in her country home at
Chappaqua, New York, is taking a com-
plete rest.

It is said by some who should know, that
it was Miss Marion's disappointment in -her
latest picture, "Just Around the Corner,"
the Fannie Hurst story which she scenario-
ized and directed, that was the real reason
for her leaving. The few who have seen
the picture say it is a very fine thing — not
a spectacular drama, just a simple story of
sweet and simple people. But it will prob-
ably not be released as it is; and it is'
thought Miss Marion, who put all herunder-
standing of human nature, and her expres-
sive pen, and personal direction, into it,
feels that her efforts were wasted.

With her husband, Fred Thompson, she
has left Manhattan for the summer at
least; and it is very probable that a play
and a novel from her pen will appear in the
fall. She has had offers for both.

PEGGY HYLAND is married to Fred
Granville.

We know who she is, but we don't know
who he is.

YES, Thtda Bara married Charles Bra-
bin. Everybody said she would, sooner
or later.

Mr. Brabin has for some time been Miss
Bara's most ardent admirer — both artistic-
ally and personally. And he doesn't care
who knows it.

(Continued on page 86)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

AN OPPORTUNITY

You know that millions have been MADE
in every branch of the motion picture

industry.

You know that millions have been LOST
through investment in fake motion picture
enterprises.

Do you know that an opportunity is now pre-
sented whereby you can secure a share in
the profits of a legitimate business with an
assured minimum return of 8% per annum ?

Do you know that there is a tremendous de-
mand for a safe, fireproof, foolproof, port-
able projecting machine?

Do you know that such a machine exists,
which, due to its exclusive features, should
soon have the field to itself?

Do you know that the business of this com-
pany is expanding so rapidly that additional
financing is necessary to increase its plant
capacity, its output and to expand its sell-
ing organization ?

Paramount Projector Corporation

Registrar,
Harriman National Bank, N. Y.

Transfer Agent,
Central National Corp., N. Y.

CAPITALIZATION
Authorized, $500,000

To Be Outstanding $500,000

8 percent cumulative participating

preferred stock.

Par value $10 per share.

COMMON STOCK:

1,000,000 par value $ 1 0 per share,

full paid, non-assessable.

THE business of the Corporation is the manufacture of
portable picture projectors. Paramount projectors
produce a picture as efficiently and as clear and flicker-
less as the large stationary machines used in motion picture
theatres. It is built in compact form to give portability
and is absolutely safe and most efficient for use in schools,
churches, institutions and the home. Its Spherical Reflector
Lens are supreme in their field. The Condensing Lens is a
special heat-resisting glass designed to give the maximum
amount of illumination. The WATER SCREEN, an exclu-
sive feature, assures safety from fire by absorbing the heat
rays, yet permits the unobstructed passage of the light rays.
The film may be threaded with the light on and may be
stopped at any point to project any particular scene of a
picture for an indefinite period of time with absolute safety.
The machine uses standard film, has a capacity of 1,000
feet, and at 70 feet throws a clear, sharp picture 9 feet by
12 feet in size. The demand for such a portable projector
is tremendous and world wide. Estimated on orders and
contracts now in hand, the corporation should market not
less than 5,000 machines per year, which represents a profit
of $250,000. Contracts already closed call for the delivery
of 2,500 machines.

We Recommend the Purchase

of This Security for the

Following Reasons:

1 — This Corporation manufactures what is
claimed to be the only sate, fireproof, port-
able projecting machine on the market.

2 — Its safety features are unique, the most
important of which is its water screen
which abso bs the heat rays, prevents
heat reaching the film and makes possible
the use of motion picture film for stere-
optican purposes.

3 — The Corporation has an almost unlimited
field for its products.

4 — The dividends on the Preferred Stock will
be paid quarterly.

5 — Its estimated earnings, based on con-
tracts and orders now on hand, approxi-
mate three times its dividend require-
ments for 1921, this without taking into
consideration orders to be obtained dur-
ing the balance of this year.

6 — Financial statements, before and after
giving effect to this financing, are by W.
A. Fleming & Co., Public Accountants,
and Byrnes & Baker, Certified Public
Accountants, both of New Yorki

7 — Its plant has been favorably reported on
by Moses, Pope and Trainer, Consulting
Engineers, New York. The machine has
been inspected and favorably reported on
by J. Verrier, of Verrier, Eddy Co., and
by practical men of the motion picture
industry.

8 — The original owners are receiving only
stock in the Company for the interests
they held prior to the organization of
this Corporation.

9 — The exceptiona 1 field for the company's
product, the exceptional demand for a
machine of this character and the large
margin of profit create, in our opinion,
exceedingly attractive earning possibilities
for the Common Stock.
10 — Taken from a report by Byrnes & Baker,
Certified Public Accountants, the state-
ment of the Company, after giving effect
to this financing, shows

Tangible Assets, $393,483.29
Total Liabilities, $4,596.81

FERGUSON-GOODELL & CO., Inc.

28 West 44th Street, New York

Gentlemen: — I am interested in securing, without obli-
gation on my part, further details on Paramount Pro-
jector Corporation.

Name

Address -

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

'(Do %

Title Ree. U. S. Pat. Off.

' I 'HIS is YOUR Department. Jump right in with your contribution.
■*■ What have you seen, in the past month, that was stupid, unlife-
like, ridiculous or merely incongruous? Do not generalize; confine your
remarks to specific instances of absurdities in pictures you have seen.
Your observation will be listed among the indictments of carelessness on
the part of the actor, author or director.

Movie Manners

KENNETH HARLAN, in the Constance Talmadge pic-
ture, "Lessons in Love," has traveled all the way
from California to Florida with his sister. Yet only
a short time after their arrival, when she tells him
she will see him at the hotel later, he shakes hands with her!
V. A. Carter, Denver, Colorado.

Always a Perfect Gentleman

IN "Colorado," while Frank Mayo is trying to save the
heroine in the mine, he has his rubber hat swept off. But it
is very noticeable later when he removes it while standing at
the bedside of Kate. P. V. K., Auburn, Indiana.

The Vanity of Villains

SANDERSON, the villain of "Way Down East"— played by
Lowell Sherman — enters the supposed minister's house
wearing a cute little bow tie. After the ceremony, he is wearing
a handsome four-in-hand. At another time, he goes into the
farm house wearing high walking boots, and appears in the
sitting room with low shoes on. Going out, he has the high
boots on again. What a wardrobe Sanderson had!

Albert E. Peters, Jr., Birmingham, Mich.

It's Worth Looking At!

IN Vivian Martin's picture, "Pardon My French," we are
invited, in a subtitle, to "have a good look at the rain."
We are looking down a small-town street. While rain pours
and sweeps across the foreground, a number of large pools of
water further
down the street
are as calm and
unruffled as plate
glass mirrors.
Theodore H.
Bauer, Los
Angeles, Cal.

Not Enough Speed

IT happened in
Wallv's "Too
Much Speed." An
old man is seen in
the back seat of a
car, bouncing up
and down
from the speed
it's going.
But look out
the side win-
dow and you '11
see that the
windows and the trees are standing
perfectly still.

A. P. Herschler, Jr., St. Paul,
Minn.

This Made the Answer Man Laugh

IN "Mother Eternal," the old
gray-haired mother jumped from
the wharf, trying to kill herself.

Later on when she had been rescued, a close-up showed that
her hair was now decidedly dark. I'd like to find out just
where that scene was taken, as I have an aunt who is using
sage tea quite unsuccessfully.

Carol Gregg, Brooklyn, N. Y.

A Mix-up

HTOM MIX is in jail in "The Ridin' Romeo." He calls his
1 horse to the window, takes the lasso off the saddle, and fastens
it around the cot in the cell. Then from a standing start the
horse pulls the cot through a brick wall. Then Tom, with the
cot still attached, gallops through a gate in a picket fence, but
when the cot at the end of the lasso reaches the fence, it stops
and pulls Tom off his horse with enough force to make him see
stars.

W. B. Buhlman, Allendale, N. Y.

Where Did He Get It?

f N "The Foolish Matrons," Wallace MacDonald is shown in
* a saloon, more than slightly — er — pickled. There is a
glass of beer — beer — beside him. A close-up is shown and the
glass is empty. After the close-up it is again full.

Harold Brook, Glenbrook, Conn.

They Called It a Day

TN "The Common Level," during the battle of the Gauls
*■ and the Romans, there are several scenes of men falling
from their horses. When the dust clears away a second later,
no men are to be seen! Sara E. Miller, Newark, N. J.

HOT COFFEE!!

I saw the picture, "Lying Lips. ' In it House
Peters ana Florence Vidor are supposed to be the
only survivors of a ship which has been blown up
by a floating mine. They climb on one end
ship which is still afloat.

d{ the
All the rest has sunk but
this one end, and yet House Peters goes to a gas
jet on the wall and lights it and also later goes some-
where and makes Florence a cup of hot coffee.
Some people have all the luck!

G. C. STEVENS, Chicago.

My Word, Monte!
TV/TONTE BLUE,
*■* *■ whom I like
ever so much, was
Gloria Swanson 's
husband in "Some-
thing To Thin k
About." Just after
hearing good news,
Monte picks
up the coffee
pot and
dancesaround
with it in his
arms. A few
minutes be-
fore, Gloria
had poured
boiling hot
coffee from
the same pot.
A. S., Muncie, Indiana.

Rah Rah Rah !

I'VE seen many foot-ball games,
but when a game was over, I
never saw the teams with thejr
sweaters and stockings, etc., as
spick and span as when they
started. That's what happened in
"The Golden Trail."

Max D., Sparta, 111.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Federal Student Gets

$500.00 for a Single Drawing

Made in 12 Hours

HOW would you like to make $42 an hour ?
That is what Martin S. DeMuth did. He
was third prize winner in the Victory Hall
Poster Contest held at New York City. An
unknown artist, this Federal student won fame
overnight. Mr. DeMuth started his poster for
this contest on a Wednesday afternoon. He fin-
ished it Thursday afternoon and delivered it just
before closing time.

Competes With Famous Artists

Imagine his surprise when the newspapers
announced him as winner of the $500.00 prize.
The other prizes were won by artists of interna-
tional repute — men with years of experience in the
work. Overnight this Federal student took his
place in the ranks of prominent artists.

How would you like to have your name placed
side by side with the names of the greatest artists
in the United States as did this Federal student ?
All these men were students once just like Mr.
DeMuth. You, too, have the same chances for success.

Learn in Your Spare Time

Every mail brings us letters from some of our
students telling of their advancements and increased
salaries won through spare time study. Don't wait
any longer. Take the step now that will turn your
liking for drawing into money. Turn your wasted
hours and dull moments into profit and pleasure.
You can easily learn in your spare time without
interfering with your regular work. Sixty of
America's leading artists and illustrators will tell
you how. They will guide you step by step to
success and help you solve every problem. These
men teach you the same principles and practices
that have made them such big successes.

Get This Free Book

Send for a copy of the book, "A Road to Bigger Things."
It tells about the opportunities waiting in the world of illus-
trating and cartooning. It tells how many nationally known
artists made the start that made their names famous. Send
for your copy of this free book today. State your name,
address and age. Send 6c in stamps to cover mailing cost.

FEDERAL SCHOOLS, Inc.

108 Federal Schools Bldg.

Minneapolis, Minn.

When jou write lo advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

GIRLS! GIRLS!

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Save Your Hair

WITH CUTICIM

Make these fragrant super-
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Short -Story Writing

A Course of Forty Lessons,
taught by Dr. J. Berg Esenwein,
Editor of The lVriter'sMonthly.
One pupil has received over
$5,000 for stories and articles
written mostly in spare time.
Hundreds are selling right along
to the leading magazines and the
best producing companies.
Also courses in Play Writing,
Photoplay Writing, Versifica-
tion, Journalism, etc
ISO-Page illustrated catalogue free. PleaseAddress

The Home Correspondence School

Dep't. 95, Sjmngfield.Mass.

CSTAQUSHCO ISOT INCORPORATED I90*

DR. ESENWEIN

Vamps of All Times

{Concluded from page 72)

slipped on a simple flowered silk kimono,
stole out of the bed-chamber and set to
work.

Having summoned Gambara, the queen
of the Winiler, Fricca gave her some whis-
pered instructions. Then, tiptoeing back to
the royal chamber, Fricca carefully and
slowly wheeled the royal bed into such a
position that on opening his royal eyes the
first thing in the morning the All-Father
would gaze, not through the east windows
but through the west windows.

When Wotan awoke at break of day he
stretched himself, yawned noisily and
looked out. There, surely enough, he saw a
great army in battle array. But it was not
the Vandals and their spiritual kin that
Wotan beheld, but the host of the Wiliner.

Fricca's silvery laugh was the first inti-
mation he had that something had gone
wrong.

"The Winiler win!" declared Fricca,
clapping her robust German hands.

"H'm," he admitted with a disgusted ex-
pression. "But where in the name of the
great Ash-Tree did all these bearded war-
riors come from? I didn't know there were
so many men in the entire tribe."

"A little trick of mine," explained the All-
Mother proudly. " You see — I sent word to
their women to line up with the men, with
their long hair draped down over their
shoulders and chests to look like beards."

"Bright idea, Fricca — bright idea," con-
fessed the All-Father with a wry smile.

"Thanks, Wotan," rejoined Fricca sweet-
ly. "After the victory their name shall be
Longo-Bardi, or Long-Beards."

Which was another bright idea on the
part of Fricca, except for the mere detail
that the word Longo-Bardi means Long-
Spears and not Long-Beards. But what is
a little thing like the peculiarity of language
between gods? And, besides, the Lom-
bards told the story on themselves.

We are assured by the writers of the Sagas
that Fricca was particularly agreeable at
the breakfast table that morning, although
Wotan was not in good humor and spoke
rather shortly to Brunhild when she brought
in a tankard of mead that lacked the usual
tang.

That day Fricca took personal command
of the Valkyrie, who had an exceedingly
busy time picking up dead and dying Van-
dals and galloping up to Valhalla with them
as the tide of battle turned more and more
strongly to the gentle and unresisting
Winiler.

Although the mistress of Asgard Hall was
a spiritual first cousin to Aphrodite, the
First Lady of Olympus Mansions, the two
goddesses never met. It was a matter of
common report both in the Valhalla Club
and in the Old Sports' Corner of the Im-
mortals' Club of Olympus, that Fricca
severely disapproved of Aphrodite's meth-
ods, and especially of the carryings-on of
"that person's" priestesses in the Light-
house district of Alexandria. So Fricca re-
fused to meet Aphrodite.

" I may be a Vamp," observed Fricca one

day to the magazine editor of the Asgard
Daily Herald, in an interview strictly not
meant for publication; "but I hope I try to
be a good wife and mother."

Unlike Aphrodite, Fricca was not fond of
display. It was admitted even by some of
Aphrodite's best friends — her own son
Aeneas, for example — that she was some-
what addicted to what the Anglo-Saxons of
a later period called "Swank." Nobody
outside the family circle ever saw her when
she was not posing for a sculptor, and in
most cases in the "altogether."

Fricca, on the other hand, much preferred
the simple home-life of Asgard Hall to the
stiff formality of a temple. Her reception of
Queen Ambara in the modest costume of a
boudoir cap and a flowered silk kimono on
the eve of the Winiler- Vandal battle is an
apt illustration of her marked distaste for
ostentation.

Except on important state occasions,
Fricca kept her crown, her royal robes and
the other symbols of her All-Motherly dig-
nity put away in her closet. It is said that
on one occasion Wotan, on his return from
a celebration at the Valhalla Club, found
her polishing the mead-horns in the kitchen.

"What d-does this m-mean, my dear?"
he remonstrated; "haven't you got Val-
kyries enough to do the work?"

"Oh, I gave them an evening off," she
responded cheerfully. "The poor things
looked as if they needed a good gallop over
the clouds, so I let them all go."

By some accident the purport of this
conversation got into the society column of
the Asgard Daily Herald the next morning.
Greatly as she regretted the unauthorized
publication, Fricca was consoled by the
reflection that it helped her to establish the
reputation she sought to establish — the
reputation of sober-minded, motherly ma-
tron who was always taking thought of the
happiness of others.

It was noticed that Fricca never ordered
a statue of herself. In this respect she dif-
fered conspicuously from Aphrodite, who
had all the sculptors of Athens, and several
in Alexandria and Rome, executing her
commissions.

Fricca's powers of persuasion were strictly
of the domestic, the womanly sort. One of
the tribes that worshipped her called her by
the name of Frowa. From that word is de-
rived the expression "frou-frou" — suggest-
ing the gentle, soothing, unobtrusive yet
almost unfailing influence by which the
wife of the All-Mother achieved her pur-
poses.

With the sole exception of that trifling
incident of the dwarfs and the necklace,
Fricca's domestic life was as placid as a
summer's day.

No more glowing tribute was ever paid to
her than the remark made by one of the
ladies-in-waiting of the late Queen Victoria
after she had laid down "The Memoirs of
Fricca" which she had just finished read-
ing:

"How like the home life of our dear

queen! "

UHIJHIJHIMrHTJHpH1JH.IJWbMnH.TJS

Are Women's Colleges Old-Maid Factories?

O you know?
How many college graduates can qualify as beauties? How many of
whom you could say, " It 's her college education that makes her so charm-
ing?"
Why is it that among the many beautiful and intelligent women in motion
pictures, only two are college graduates? As far as we are able to find out, only
Miss Betty Blythe and Miss Mary Thurman came to the screen from college:
the former from the University of California; Miss Thurman, from the Univer-
sity of Utah. Why aren't there more?

Read the answer in November Photoplay.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section 3 c

You Can Win $1,000.00

Extra Puzzle Pictures
Free on Request

Our

NO-SEAM

Combination

Hot Water Bottle

and Fountain Syringe

OBSERVE THESE RULES

apolis and St. Paul, who i
may submit an answer. 1

1. Any person residine outside of Minn
Dot an employe of the W. M. Rubber Co..
costs nothing to try.

2. All answers must be mailed by September 30. 1921.

3. Answers should be written on one side of the paper only and words
numbered I. 2. 3, etc. Write your full name and address on each page
In the upper right hand corner. IT you desire to write anything else, use
• separate sheet.

4 Only words found in the English dictionary will' -be counted. Do
not use hyphenated, compound or obsolete words. Use either the singular
or plural, but where the plural is used the singular can not be counted,
and vice versa.

5. Words of the same spelling can be used only once, even though used
to densimte different objects. The same object can be named only once.
However, any part of the object may also be named.

6. I 'In- answer having the largest and nearest correct list of names of
visible objecta shown in the picture that begin with the letter "P" will
be awarded first pri/,e. etc. Neatness, style or handwriting have no bear-
ing upon deciding the winners.

7 Candidates may co-operate in answering the puzzle, but only one
prize will be awarded^ to any one household: nor will prizes be awarded to
more than one of any group outside of the family where two or more have
been working together.

8. There will be three independent judges having no connection with
the W. M. Rubber Co.. who will judge the answers submitted and award
the prizes at the end of the contest, and participants agree to accept the
decision of the judges as final and conclusive The following three
registered Minnesota school teachers, now teaching in the public schools
of St. Paul, Minn., have agreed to act aa judges of this unique com-
petition:

Miss Mable Claire Kline.
Miss Meta Goetsche,
Miss Laura Johnson.

9. AH answers will receive the same consideration regardless of whether
or not a W. M. Rubber Bag is purchased.

10. The announcement of the prize winners and the correct list of
words will be printed at the close of the contest and a copy mailed to
each person purchasing a Rubber Bag.

Answer This Puzzle — Cash Prizes Given

How many objects in the picture above begin with the letter "P"? For instance there is
a pipe, paddle, pig, etc., and all the other objects are equally clear. See who can find the
most. Fifteen cash prizes will be paid for the 15 best lists of words submitted to this
puzzle. The person sending in the largest and nearest correct list will win first prize;
second best, second prize, etc.

Right after dinner this evening, gather all the members of your family together, give each one of them a
pencil and sheet of paper, and see who can find the most "P-Words." We venture to say you will never have
:is much fun. You will be surprised to find how large a list of words you can get after a few minutes' study.
Sit down and try it — then send in your list and try for the big prizes.

Costs Nothing to Try— Everybody Join In

You don't need to send in a penny to win. This is an advertising campaign to increase the popularity of our
Famous No-Seam Combination Hot Water Bottle and Fountain Syringe. As a reward for boosting our
goods, we are making this special offer, whereby you can win LARGE CASH PRIZES by purchasing ONE
or TWO of our Seamless Hot Water Bags.

YOU CAN WIN $1,000.00

If your answer is awarded first prize by the judges, you will win $20.00, but if you would like to win more than
120.00, we are making some special cash prize offers during the Big Advertising and Booster Campaign, whereby
you can win more than S20.00 by sending in an order for one or two of our Seamless Hot Water Bottles.
|_| » fl,_ Pl~n " your answer wins first prize and vou have purchased ONE of our $3.00

ncre S Hie nan Water Bottles you will receive S300 as your prize, instead of $20.00; second
prize, $150; third prize, $75, etc.
Or, if your answer wins first prize and
you have purchased TWO hot water bot-
tles (in all $6.00), you will receive $1,000
as your prize, instead of $20; second prize,
$500; third prize, $250, etc.
Although it is not necessary to send in an order
with your answer, yet every home should have
one or two of our "No-Seam" Combination
Hot Water Bottles. In case of sickness they
are indispensable, and the syringe attachment
makes it doubly useful. Made of the highest
grade red rubber, molded In one piece; it has
no seams and will not leak.

Note the Low Price

Our "No-Seam" Combination Hot Water
Bottle and Fountain Syringe is an excellent
value for the money. Only $3.00 for the com-
plete outfit, including all attachments.

Two Bags for $6.00

OUR GUARANTEE

We guarantee our "No-Seam" Com-
bination Hot Water Bag and Fountain
Syringe not to leak. If the bag leaks, or
the fittings become imperfect, we will re-
place the bag free of charge any time
within one year.

... ...

THE PRIZES

Winning answers will receive prizes as follows:

If no

If ONK

If TWO

bags are

$3.00 bag is $3.00 bags are

purchased

1st

prize .

$20.00

$300.00

$1,000.00

2nd

prize

. 10.00

150.00

500.00

3rd

prize .

. . 5.00

75.00

250.00

4th

prize .

. 5.00

50.00

125.00

5th

prize .

. 5.00

30.00

75.00

6th

prize .

. . 3.00

20.00

50.00

7th

prize .

. 3.00

15.00

40.00

8th

prize .

. 3.00

10.00

20.00

9th

prize .

. 2.00

10.00

20.00

10th

prize

2.00

10.00

20.00

11th

prize .

. 2.00

10.00

20.00

12th

prize .

. . 2.00

10.00

20.00

13th

prize .

2.00

10.00

20.00

14th

prize -

2.00

10.00

20.00

15th

prize

2.00

10.00

20.00

In case of

ties, duplicate prizes wll

be given

NOTE: In

ihe event the

winner of first prize fails to

win the full

51,000 by not

having purchased a water

bag.

the bala

nee of this prize money shall

be divided

propr

rtionate

ly among the remaining winners who have

purchased wa

ter bags.

WlV/f DI TDD CD i^*i^% 239 SIXTH AVENUE, NORTH
•-1V1. KUDdLK \^U, MINNEAPOLIS - MINN.

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

j Buy Qualify Xmas Gifts I
! DIRECT from thelfelds X

You'll surprise and de--,,-,
light any man ^f%\ \ \ \

with this .s^flltl

clever and ^f\\
beautiful f^\ '. * ^i

122B

$2.50

Value $3.50

gift.

"FILKWIK" CIGARETTE CASE

It is heavily silver plated outside, gold lined and has
uniqueindividualspnngholderforrowofcig- «.,, -
arettes. Usually Bold for$3. 50. Ourpriceonly *•<£•'

I25B

LADIES*
BRACELET WATCH

A charming Xmas gift. This I
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jeweled Lady Alton move-
ment, 20 yr. guaranteed gold
(illedcaseand bracelet. Sold
instoresuptoS22.50 *. e nn
Ourpriceonly $13.UU |

SET OF SIX
BUTTER SPREADERS

Wonderful value. Six But-
ter Spreaders, lustrous
mother-of-pearl sterling
silver ferrules, heavily sil-
ver plated blades. Retailup
to $7.50. Our price ** CA
forsetofsix.only **.3U

103 B- BABY HEART CHARM

Don't forget baby this Xmas. Here's I
a cute Heart Charm, made in 10K gold I
with dair.ty 13 in. chain. Sells ^^ .
op to $1.60. Ourpriceonly •pl.00

THIS $5.00 "GILBERT"
RADIUM DIAL ALARM CLOCK

On this well-known
"Gilbert" you can see
time from 7ft. to 10ft.
in the dark. Stands 6
in. high, diameter 4M
inches, plain radium
numerals stand out
against grey dial. A
family friend. Never
eoldunder$5. a^ nf.
Our price *O.UU

121 :

LADIES' CAMEO RING
I Any woman will be delighted to
get this ring for Xmas. It is
made in 10K gold set with a
charming pink and white shell
Cameo. So'd by jewelers*-} ,-*,
upto$6. Our price only 30.3U
Send size when ordering.

10K GOLD LOOSE LINK
CUFF LINKS

Surprisesomeman with
these loose link 10K
Gold Cuff Links in Ro-
man Gold finish. Sold
"n store8Upto$5tfj-3 *{*
Ourpriceonly $-J.3U
Monogram ,50 extra.

27th ANNUAL BOOK OF GIFTS — FREE

This wonderful book haslfi8 pages, profusely illus-
trated with thousands of Xmas gilt suggest ions of fine
velry at big money-saving prices. Mailed free to

| everybody ordering goods or requesting same by let-

I ter or postal.

National Distributors ol COMMUNITY PLATE
and Other Well-known Brands of Silverware.

Baird-NortliG

80 9 BROAD ST PROVIDENCE R X

Mabel and Polly — pals, even it they are both movie queens. Miss Normand

came over (o help Miss Frederick with her rodeo for crippled children,

directed by Polly at her Beverly Hills estate with an all-star cast. Both

are wearing the costumes in which they appeared.

MARY ITCKFORD pulled a tooth.
( )ne of her own.
It happened like this: As Little Lord
Fauntleroy, whose life she is now engaged in
recording on the screen, Little Mary tied a
string to her tooth and then attached it to
the big knob of a heavy prop door in " Dor-
incourt Castle." You get the idea: Direc-
tor Jack Pickford — in prviate life Mary's
little brother — was supposed to take charge
of the scene. But he caused the door to
slam at the wrong moment — through some
mistake in the signals — and Mary Pick-
ford's tooth was actually pulled. Lucky
the director was her own brother. Other-
wise he might have found himself out of a
job.

EVERYBODY— that is, nearly every-
body— who could raise the price of
admission and get a leave of absence from
the studios long enough, attended the Big

Every advertisement in 1'HOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Fight, when Jack Dempsey retained the
heavyweight championship of the world
against Georges Carpentier.

Wallace Reid occupied a ringside seat.
So did William Fox and David Belasco.
Justine Johnston raced across the Atlantic
from London to reach the huge arena in
Jersey City in time — and she left the next
day for Europe. David Griffith was there,
though it's hard to believe. Irvin Cobb.
Don Marquis, Christopher Morley and
many more literary lights attended.

A great many of the film people arrived
at 10:30 in the morning, to give the scores of
photographers on the job a good chance to
take their pictures.

Watch out for another serial starring
Jack Dempsey.

Unless you live in New Jersey you will
have to content yourself with the newspaper
pictures of the fight. The censors simply
won't let them show movies of it.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

A Minute A Day

Keeps Father Time Away

For a Glowing, Youthful Complexion

Simonson's Complexion Cream, non-greasy
and vanishing, gently massaged into the
skin with an upward and outward move-
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A tiny touch of Simonson's Rouge on cheeks
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Remove all excess cuticle with Simonson's
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SIMONSON Toilette Products are sold only
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ALLENTOWN, PA., Hess Bros.

ALBANY N. Y., Robinson Drug Store

ANNISTON. ALA.. Alabama Drug Co.

ASHTABULA. OHIO, C. F. Schaffner

BALTIMORE, MD„ Hutzler Bros.

BETHLEHEM. PA.. Prosser's Drug Store

BINGHAMPTON, N. Y., Sisson Bros.-Weldon Co.

BRUNSWICK, GA.. Collier's Drug Store

CALCUTTA, INDIA, The H. T. K. Trading Co.

CLEVELAND, OHIO, The May Co.

CORNING. N. Y., Terbell-Calkins Drug Co.

DOTHAN. ALA., The Hilden

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ERIE, PA., Warner Bros. Co.

GADSDEN, ALA., E. H. Cross

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HAZLETON, PA.. P. Deisroth Sons

JAMESTOWN, N. Y., The Abrahamson-Bigelow Co.

JERSEY CITY. N. J., Belmont Pharmacy

LAKELAND, FLA.. City Drugstore

LA PORTE, MD.. The Boston Store

LIVE OAK, FLA., Wynn Drug Co.

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MERIDIAN. MISS., Caver's Drug Store

MONROE, MICH.. Hagans Drug Co.

NEWARK, N. J.. Petty's Pharmacy

NEW ORLEANS, LA.. Maison Blanche

NIAGARA, N. Y„ Niagara Dry Goods Co.. Inc.

NORFOLK, VA.. Watts Renew Clay. Inc.

OWEGO, N. Y., The Woodford Pharmacy

PAINESVILLE, OHIO. Gail G. Grant

PINE BLUFF. ARK., Reinberger & Collier

RANGELEY, ME.. Mrs. B. Wesley Often

ROCHESTER, N. Y., McCurdy & Co.

ROCHESTER, N. Y. Mrs. Clara Palmer Oliver

ROME, GA., Fifth Avenue Drug Co.

RICHMOND, VA.. The Cohen Co., Inc.

ST. LOUIS, MO.. Famous-Ban Co.

ST. PETERSBURG. FLA . Henry Schutz

SAVANNAH, GA.. Leopold Adler

SHREVEPORT. LA., Peyton Drug Co.

SUSQUEHANNA. PA.. Frank .1. lieddon

TAMPA. FLA., Mans Bros.

THOMASVILLE. C.A.. N. T. Pike Drug Co.

VALPARAISO, IXD., Speelit-Finney Co.

WEST HOBOKF.N. N. J.. Edmund .1 Zink

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em Simotiaaiu

TOILET! E
PRODUCTS

Sold everywhere in Greater
New York, or at exclusive
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Cents Each

Regular

Size

Cents Each

Double

Quantity

DIRECT BY MAIL. 10 CENTS EXTRA
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A.SIM0NS0N,5o6FiftliAve.,NcwVork,N.Y.
I enclose 50c for regular size or 75c for
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SIZE
50c 75c

_J Complexion Cream

J R.^uge []cake [] liquid []powder []crtam
[] Face Powder []loose [] liquid []cakc
_] Astringent Toilette Water
_| Cuticle Remover

"2 NailPolish [] liquid []crcam []pow,ler
~2 Shampoos [iHenna []Tar []Lemon Blossom
[]Pine []Castile

Name

Street

Citv State-

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

)WVWAftWftWANWM^MWWV^

To Clean Your
Closet Bowl

It is no longer necessary to go through
all of the fatiguing distasteful work of dip-
ping out of water and scrubbing in order
to clean the closet bowl. Sani-Flush does
all of the hard work for you. Sprinkle a
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Plays and Players

(Continued)

Everybody told Monte Dlue now much he looked like Rod LaRocque, so

when Rod came to Hollywood, Monte looked him up, and they posed for this

picture. The question is: which is Rod and which is Monte?

GARETH HUGHES— of "Sentimental
Tommy" fame and now a Metro fea-
tured player — is a fine little actor, but he
isn't what might be called molded for
battle. In a recent picture, a series of re-
incarnation cut backs gave Gareth the
leading role in a battle filled with noise,
excitement, murder and sudden death.

In the middle of the scene, young Hughes
suddenly threw down his spear, gave a
shriek and disappeared at a run toward the
cafeteria, where he camped under the
counter and declared in frantic tones to all
persuasion, "I won't do it. I hate it. I'm
an actor, not a prize fighter. I never said
I'd play a battling hero and I won't."

It took much persuasion before he could
be lured into completing the sequence.

WILL ROGERS, having completed his
contract with Goldwyn in June, is to
make two reelers with his own company.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

" I tell you," says Rogers, "critics always
say about my pictures there was enough
material for good two-reel pictures — or
the story could have been told in two reels —
or something like that so I just decided I
might as well quit feeling around and make
two-reelers to begin with."

THE film colony of Hollywood is mourn-
ing the loss for a time of Mr. and Mrs.
Howard Hickman (Bessie Barriscale) who
have gone to New York to produce a play
of Mr. Hickman's with Miss Barriscale in
the leading part.

The gorgeous Barriscale home, one of the
most elaborate mansions in Los Angeles, was
sold at auction as were its beautiful furnish-
ings, and Mr. Hickman and Miss Barris-
cale have flitted. They were one of the
most popular couples in the screen circles
and everybody^ is already beginning to miss
them.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)

THE other day Mary Pickford was
making some kid scenes for "Little Lord
Fauntleroy." Just when the camera began
to grind, Mary felt a shot from a pea-
shooter, and left the set to investigate.
There didn't seem to be any small boys
around, so work was resumed. But as soon
as Little Mary began to act again, she was
disturbed by some more peas from the in-
visible pea-shooter. This time she made a
thorough search— and discovered, not her
brother Jack, but her husband, Douglas
Fairbanks, perched on a rafter above the
set, having the time of his life keeping his
wife from working.

THF. motion picture has captured Paris.
You'd think — in fact, always have
thought — that the French were fond of their
cafes and their Opera Comique to the ex-
clusion of any other form of amusement.
But no — during 1020 the cinema theaters
had the largest audiences. Nineteen twenty,
in fact, is the most prosperous year the
amusement halls have had. In 1913 —
before the war — the gross receipts of all
classes of houses was 68,500,000 francs; in
1020, 210,455,194.

MOST of us were surprised to learn that
Agnes Ayres was divorced, as we
never knew she was married.

Her husband was Frank Schuker, a Cap-
tain in the army whom Miss Ayres married
in Brooklyn about three years ago.

APROMIXEXT young celluloid lumi-
nary had, in a moment of madness, con-
sented to be "shown" a small middle-
western city when she was crossing the
continent not long ago.

She was riding with the Important Citizen
and his wife, both of whom had undertaken
to tell her a few things about their town.

"There, Miss," said the P. C, pointing,
"there's the gas-works."

"Oh, yes," said the star, "yes, I was
aware of the gas-works quite a while back.''

HOLLYWOOD has been literally over-
run with swimming parties this hot
month. Everybody who has a swimming
pool — and numerous screen celebrities have
— is enjoying it themselves and inviting
their friends to do likewise.

Wally Reid's hillside estate sports a very
grand pool, with a walled-in sand pile, com-
pletely shut in from the road and Mrs.
Reid — who was pretty Dorothy Daven-
port— -is to be found in it about eight hours
out of every twenty-four. The other after-
noon she and Wally were joined by pretty
Wanda Hawley — who looks very nice indeed
in a blue one piece affair, which she fills
with curving completeness — Mabel Nor-
mand, and was there ever anybody before
or since who could look like Mabel in one
of those Italian silk suits of unrelieved
black — T. Roy Barnes, and his wife Bessie
Crawford, Bill Hart, May Alison, who is
just learning to swim and docs it with
fascinating timidity amid prolific masculine
instruction — and wears a modest, taffeta
bathing dress that looks very Frenchy and
ties in the back. Not to mention young
Bill Reid, who at the age of four has learned
to swim under water like an enlarged min-
now, but can't swim if his nose gets above
water.

Charles Ray has also built a pool — of
pale green tile, with a fetching little Japan-
ese tea garden at one end and green tile
dressing rooms at the other. Mr. Ray's
pool cost 811,000 and is said to be the very
nicest one around here.

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What's the Matter With
College Women?

If anything? Are they more successful
in their careers than women who have
never gone to college? Could the college
girls you know qualify for motion pic-
tures? You'll find the absorbing answer
in Photoplay for November.

Plays and Players

Johnny Harron, the little brother of the beloved Bobby, is a big boy now,
and has played in several pictures, most recently with Harry Carey. Here
are Harry and Johnny tracing the old Sante Fe train which figures in Carey's

THE wedding of Lloyd Hughes, rising
young Ince star, and Gloria Hope, pretty
screen ingenue, took place in Los Angeles
during the first week in July.

Thereby hangs a tale. Mr. Hughes cer-
tainly hasn't told — but it leaked out some-
how, and his friends have been adding
insult to injury in the matter of kidding
the bridegroom.

Mr. Hughes is working for King Vidor in
his forthcoming production. He had had
the license for several days, burning a hole
in his pocket, waiting and watching anxious-
ly for a chance to use it.

One afternoon Mr. Vidor's assistant
director came to him and said, " Mr. Hughes
I don't think we're going to want you for
three days anyway. If you want to get
away, now's a good time."

Mr. Hughes certainly did want to get
away. The wedding was arranged for the
next day — took place in the forenoon —
and the happy bridal pair left for a delight-
ful and exclusive hotel at Santa Barbara.

That same morning, King Vidor took a
look at the script, exercised his masculine
prerogative for changing his mind, and
declared that he absolutely must have Mr.
Hughes on the set the next morning at nine
o'clock. After much excitement, the com-
pany located him, telephoned him the sad
news and "like a sap" as he himself put it,
he climbed out of bed at four o'clock in the
morning and was on the set ready to work
at nine.

CLAIRE WINDSOR, leading woman for
Lois Weber productions, was the hero-
ine this week of a sensational disappearance
drama that startled all Hollywood and
resulted in turning out the entire police
department of Los Angeles.

Miss Windsor left her home — where she
lives with her mother and her four-year-old
son — on the morning of Ju'y 15th at nine
o'clock, went to the Hollywood Riding
Academy, got her horse, went into the
Hollywood foothills and disappeared. At

noon her horse was found, riderless, on a
lonely hill bridle path.

The alarm was sounded and within a few
hours posses composed of friends of the
missing beauty, police officers, and citizens
of Hollywood were scouring the hills in
every direction from the spot where it was
discovered she had either fallen or been
dragged from her horse. Bloodhounds were
put on the trail, but for 35 hours failed to
find any trace of the girl.

The police struggled between the theories
that she had been assaulted, dragged from
her horse and kidnapped, or that she had
been thrown and seriously injured and was
lying unconscious in the hills.

Late the next afternoon, a woman living
in Hollywood Park heard moans near her
door and going out found Miss Windsor,
dazed and faint from fatigue, her face cut
and her habit stained and torn.

Summoning the police, the girl was
rushed immediately to a hospital and the
next day was able to tell the officers that
she fell from her horse, and that after the
terrific fall remembered nothing until the
time she woke up in the hospital.

One of the posses was led by Charles
Chaplin, who also offered SI, 000 reward to
the person who should find her.

There are those unkind enough to say
that Miss Windsor wrote to the woman in
whose house she was found — a Mrs. Dodge
— some time before the "disappearance"
asking if she could put her up for a few
days, that Miss Windsor's boots and gloves
were absolutely unscratched and that it
was strange if she was lying on the hill for
thirty-five hours the bloodhounds, police
and searchlights did not find her and that
she was never seen except after she was
inside Mrs. Dodge's home.

But of course there are always people
that would suspect the Angel Gabriel.

If, by any stretch of the imagination, it
was a press agent yarn, it was remarkably
brilliant both in conception and execution.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE — ADVERTISING SECTION

Plays and Players

{Continued)

JULIE CRUZE— the eight-year old daugh-
ter of director Janus Cruze and Mar-
guerite Snow — took a trip into the moun-
tains this summer with some friends. Be-
fore she left, her mother gave her some
stamped and addressed postal cards and
said, "Now Julie dear, write a few words
on these every day and send them to
mamma, so she'll know you are getting
along all right."

The first one she received was crowded
with writing in the space allotted to corre-
spondence and read as follows:

"Dear mama. We arrived safe. It is
grand up here. Coming up here we had a
great deal of excitement. While we were
walking up the highest trail we heard a
woman wildly yelling for help— 'Help!
Help!' There is not room on this post
card so I will finish telling you about it
tomorrow. Kisses and love, Julie."

FAMOUS PLAYERS has secured the
rights to "Miss Lulu Bett."

Now let's have a good time wondering
who's going to play the Carol McComas
part on the screen.

The betting on the film "Peter Pan" is
not so spirited as it was. Perhaps the
public knows that although it may want
Mary Pickford or Marguerite Clark to
play it, Paramount holds no such illusions.
Neither Mary nor Marguerite has been a
Famous Player for some years.

CATHERINE CALVERT is not with
Yitagraph any more. She says she is
going on the stage as Otis Skinner's leading
woman in a Broadway production of
Ibanez' "Blood and Sand."

Wonder when she will get married to the
gallant Canadian who has been so attentive
to her for so long?

WE are at a loss to understand the atti-
tude of Corinne Griffith about her
husband, who is also her director.

She has been married to Webster Camp-
bell for quite a while. She loves him, and
he loves her — or else they are both extra-
ordinarily fine actors. She likes to have
people meet him. But always, after an
interview, or anything, she says: "Please
don't say that I'm married."

Her excuse is that if the public knows
she is married, it will no longer render her
homage. The public has known it for a
long while, and it hasn't seemed to make
any difference. But if the same public
discovers that she is continually denying
her marriage it may change its mind about
her.

IF there is one little girl who is popular
around her studio, it is Alice Calhoun.
She's so young, and so pretty, and so
naive, that we hope her future film experi-
ence will not spoil her. She's as nice to the
property boys as she is to Yitagraph's presi-
dent. Pete Props and his assistants re-
cently presented her with a wrist-watch,
just to show her how much they like her.
We don't blame them. And the answer is:
Mother Calhoun. Not a stage or screen
mother; just a sweet, old-fashioned, un-
worldly woman, who never objected to her
daughter's theatrical ambitions, but who
helped her to realize them. That's the
kind of a mother to have.

ALMA RUBENS is again a member of
the Cosmopolitan forces. She is not
a star, but, like Seena Owen, a featured
leading woman. Miss Rubens has been
away from the screen for some months.
She wanted a certain salary from the Hearst
company which they did not care to give
her at the time. Now, however, she's get-
ting it.

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{Continued)

House Peters is the proud father of a baby girl. His director, Frank Lloyd,
has a little daughter, and he feels the same way about her.

LEW CODY returned to Los Angeles this
week to make personal appearances
with his last production "A Dangerous
Pastime." Mr. Cody's one desire seems to
be — if his apparently heartfelt speech is to
be taken .seriously — to reform entirely, at
least on the screen. He says he doesn't
want to be a male vamp any more, that he
doesn't believe in male vamps, that he never
intends to vamp any woman again on the
screen and that the public can rest in peace
with the assurance that from now on they
are going to see him in good clean, outdoor
roles.

WAY DOWN EAST" will be a "pro-
gram picture," after all. At first it
was announced that the Griffith drama
would be shown throughout the country
except as a "road show," in special the-
aters and with top prices. But Griffith
himself, in making the change, said. "This
action is taken because we feel that present
conditions dissuade any producer from
taxing the public too greatly. A fair
reduction is $1.00 a seat for all theatrical
productions, making the S3. 00 seats §2.00,
and the $2.00 seats only $1.00."

THERE seems now to be no doubt of the
separation of Gloria Swanson and her
husband, Herbert Somborn, formerly con-
nected with Harry Garson's company.

Miss Swanson and her ten-months-old
daughter, Gloria 2nd, are living at the
Beverly Hills Hotel, but Mr. Somborn
evidently is not. It is understood that he
has taken up his residence at the Los
Angeles Athletic Club.

The beautiful deMille star married Mr.
Somborn — who came to Hollywood from
New York to enter the executive end of
pictures — were married about two years
ago, at which time it was rumored that
Miss Swanson had refused the hand of one
of the richest young men of the millionaire
Pasadena set, to marry Somborn.

No legal action has been taken and it is
not known whether or not Miss Swanson
contemplates any.

What the cause of the break in this matri-
monial tie may be, her closest friends do
not seem to know, but it is rumored that
temperamental incompatibility is the basic
cause. Miss Swanson and Elinor Glyn —
the famous English authoress who is now
in Hollywood and has written some plays
for Gloria — have become close friends and
Madame Glyn does not believe in marriage
for artists, since she claims that "marriage
is good and art is good, but they do not
appear to assimilate to perfection." Her
theory is that great artists must not be
bound within the narrow walls of domes-
ticity.

RAYMOND HITCHCOCK is bankrupt.
He admits it, via the courts. He had
better hurry up and make that picture,
" The Beauty Shop." As Eric von Stroheim
would probably say, " It's never too late to
spend."

THE first get-together meeting of church
and film folk was held Monday evening,
July 18th, in the Immanuel Presbyterian
Church of Los Angeles, under the auspices
of the Immanuel Brotherhood, with H. J.
Middaugh, president of the Brotherhood
presiding.

Everything was grand and friendly —
everybody made speeches — and everybody
on both sides decided that when the church
began to co-operate actively with the
motion picture industry in a real effort to
obtain better pictures, better pictures would
undoubtedly be obtained and censorship
rendered an unnecessary evil.

Questions on censorship were threshed
out, with the ultimate decision that a con-
certed and well directed effort on the part
of the churches would soon bring about
pictures which would need no censorship,
thus eliminating the evils that censorship
is bound to bring and achieving the same
good.

The church leaders suggested another
meeting in the near future to outline a plan
to c? "ry out this theory and to spread it tc
national churches.

Every advertisement in PHOTOrLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)

DICK BARTHELMESS, in his first
starring story, "Tol'able David," by
Joseph Hergesheimer, doesn't need to use
any make-up at all. "David" is a son
of the soil, hardy and brown. Dick
acquired a wonderful sunburn in the surf-
near his home at Rye, New York. In fact,
the Barthelmess sunburn is so wonderful
that Dick prefers not to discuss it at all,
much less think about it. It is of the burn-
and-then-peel variety.

Dick and Mary, by the way, are very
happy. They are both keen about tennis
and swimming and each other.

GEORGE FITZMAURICE went abroad
in July.
So did Ouida Bergere — Mrs. Fitzmaurice.
"Fitz" will work at the Islington,
England, studio of Famous Players. His
first production to be made abroad will be
"Three Wise Fools." He finished "Peter
Ibbetson" before leaving.

WALLY REID tried his darndest to
look pale, wan, and aesthetic as
"Peter." The marcel wave he wore helped
a great deal.

Wally with a marcel wave! Bet "Peter
Ibbetson" is Mr. Reid's most unpopular
picture.

ACCORDING to newspaper reports,
Florence Lawrence, once the First Lady
of the films, who recently staged a come-
back, has been married to Charles B. Wood-
ring, an automobile salesman.

They met in New York when Miss Law-
rence was in retirement. They met again
in San Francisco when the actress returned
to the screen. Five days later they were
married.

Florence Lawrence's first husband is dead.
(Continued on page 112}

The Shadow Stage

(Continued from page 61)

THE GOLDEN SNARE—
First National

THE Canadian Northwest Mounted Po-
lice have a wonderful press agent in
James Oliver Curwood; he has advertised
their slogan, "get your man," in every
corner of the globe. In "The Golden
Snare," he keeps the publicity campaign up,
but adds nothing new to the world's stock
of knowledge. In fact, this picture is
exactly the same as every other frozen north
exhibit, except that the characters and the
Eskimo dogs have different names. There
is the usual amount of snow.

A HEART TO LET— Realart

JUSTINE JOHNSTONE'S new picture,
•J "A Heart to Let," possesses one of the
most incredibly foolish plots in history.
The heroine is an impoverished Southern
belle, in whose home boards a blind young
millionaire. For no reason whatsoever, she
impersonates her great aunt (deceased) —
even going so far as to dress the part — so
that she may fool the sightless youth into
believing that she is somebody else. The
picture should go big in a blind asylum.

THE SPIRIT OF ^6— All -American

OH, propaganda! What crimes are corn-
emitted in thy name. "The Spirit of
'76" was first designed as German propa-
ganda. But the Germans, after seeing the

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The Shadow Stage

(Concluded)

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film, evidently disowned it
called Irish propaganda.

So now it is typical "thriller" which wastes no time on
Whatever its plot, but is crowded with daring adventure,
political significance, it resembles nothing No risk too great for Charles, and his most
so much as a fourteen reel Ben Turpin exacting followers will acclaim this a sure-
comedy without the talented Ben. If this fire-hit. Warner Oland and Lucy Fox
is a specimen of the real Spirit of '76. complete the triangle. George B. Seitz,
how did we ever manage to win the director.
Revolution?

SUCH A LITTLE QUEEN— Realart

THIS is no world-beater. But it's just
the thing for a children's program; a
light, clean, sweet little film, with the
adorable Constance Binney queening it, the
old plot bolstered up to modernity, and
Vincent Coleman swaggeringly effective as
the Little Queen's King.

MARY TUDOR— World

A GERMAN film, with all the artistry
of its predecessors — the tale of Bloody
Mary of England, after Victor Hugo's
drama. The simplicity of the sets is amaz-
ing, the acting is very good, and the direc-
tion, by whcm we don't know, is smooth
and dramatic. Ellen Richter as Mary is
not a Pola Negri in beauty or ability, but
she is better than any American actress
could be in the role, and she has her moments
of real power.

GREATER THAN LOVE —
Associated Producers

A RISQUE story, purporting to teach a
moral lesson, and really doing nothing
of the sort. The producer left out actually
offensive scenes, but put in everything else.
The reformation of a houseful of painted
ladies, with Louise Glaum billed as "The
Unregenerate" forms the nucleus of the
plot, and a nice quiet suicide is thrown in
for good measure. Don't encourage this
type of film.

MORAL FIBER— Vitagraph

ALL our best heroines are plotting re-
venge these days. Corinne Griffith is
the latest fair plotter, with Catherine Cal-
vert the dark-eyed Cause of it All. These
two young women are superior to this type
of melodrama, which, even in their hands
bears the mark of the commonplace. They
could do something really worth while
together with an author to lend a helping
hand. Joe King and Harry C. Browne
brighten things for feminine fans.

SINGING RIVER— Fox

FIST fights and gun play. A sheriff with
a daughter. Another sheriff. A villain.
Several more villains. A red-blooded hero —
William Russell, who has drawn down a
price upon his head and has a hectic time
getting rid of it — the price, of course.
Time-frayed melodrama for those who en-
joy it. Vola Vale is its beauty spot.

THE MYSTERY ROAD —

British Paramount

ANOTHER scenic, under the guise of a
feature photoplay. Possibly when the
British producers have filhied all their
scenery, they will send us some real stories.
But we may be disheartened before that
time arrives. Here are views of England,
France, Monte Carlo and David Powell.
Well, if we must have scenics, we are glad
David is in 'em.

HURRICANE HUTCH— Pathe

FEATURES come and features go, but
the serial goes on forever. Charles
Hutchinson is author and star of this one, a

DANGER AHEAD— Universal

YOU can see this one with your eyes shut.
It's all about the innocent country girl,
the villainous artist — there is no happy
medium in artists, you know, they are
either villainous or virtuous — and the
rich but honorable hero. We're still won-
dering where Universal "found" Mary
Philbin, its new star, and why? But there
is one good thing about this picture —
Jimmy Morrison.

MAN TRACKERS— Universal

AGAIN, the Northwest Mounted Police,
but not even their presence can make
so sadly jumbled an affair as this acceptable.
Too many villains for the length of the
story, our hero bringing in his man after
the audience has forgotten what all the
shooting is for. The youngsters can see it.
It's not pernicious, just tiresome. George
Larkin and Josephine Hill head the "all-star
cast."

THE MAN WHO-Metro

THE title means little. The photoplay
less. Our hero, in a much padded story,
succeeds in reducing the High Cost of
Living by going barefoot. Attempt is
made at comedy, but Bert Lytell is not
funny without his shoes. The children
may safely see this, but they'll be bored.
Virginia Valli and Lucy Cotton lend assist-
ance, pictorially.

CRAZY TO MARRY— Paramount

THE sort of comedy that causes one to
wonder where the blame should be
placed, whether with author, star or di-
rector. Roscoe Arbuckle tries hard to be
funny and succeeds occasionally, but for
the most part it is an uninspired piece of
work, recalling early Keystone days when
a few comedy policemen and an automobile
chase made a picture. Lila Lee and Bull
Montana appear for contrast.

DEVOTION— Associated Producers

OR "The Tale of Two Sisters." One
marries for love, the other for money.
Both have a sorry time. The story is
mediocre, both direction and continuity are
bad, and though Hazel Dawn and E. K.
Lincoln put up a worthy struggle, the odds
are against them. Why do producers give
us this sort of stuff? Hardly suitable for
the children, though not offensive.

MAID OF THE WEST— Fox

ATVPICAL Fox farce, with an aviator,
a maiden fair, a mysterious robbery
and various other things to keep the camera
grinding for the necessary five thousand
feet. It's quite lively. The children,
particularly, will enjoy it.

THE SAILOR— Fox

NOT as entertaining as former Clyde
Cook efforts. The first reel contains
but few amusing situations and these
are overworked. The second reel, with
Clyde shipwrecked on a cannibal isle, is
much better, though the comedy lacks
spontaniety, at times. Rate this as average.

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When Irene Castle
Bit the Villain

YOU are always asking if those film fights
are the real thing.

Irene Castle says they are.

She was enacting a scene in her new
picture, when Edward Hollywood, her
director, insisted that so much vigor be
put into the fight that Mrs. Castle Treman
was laid up in a hospital as a result.

The star was "fighting" with Howard
Truesdale, who took the director at his
word and grappled with the heroine in real
pugilistic fashion. Irene became so carried
away by the action that, feeling an arm
twine about her neck in no gentle manner,
she forgot all the rules of the game and sank
her pearly teeth into the "villain's" arm.
Mr. Truesdale immediately countered with
a blow that was like a bolt out of the blue
as far as Irene was concerned, because she
went right out.

Of course she wasn't hurt much — she was
only in the hospital about a week. Per-
haps the next time she is called upon to do
a Dempsey, she will not insist upon too
much realism.

The Perfect Lie

(Continued from page^^)

very dramatic at such times — not real men.
Bob just said he's heard a lot of damned lies
about me and Phil — that we were in love
with each other, and all that- — had been, for
almost a year, and that I was going to
marry him, Bob, on account of his money,
but that I really loved Phil, and that he
had turned me down. 'Betty may be love
with you, Phil, for all I know,' Bob said, ' I
shouldn't blame her a bit, old chap, if she
were. She hasn't accepted me, yet. But
I'd like to know. That Townly girl said
some pretty low-down things. Now look
here, Phil — is there any reason why I
shouldn't marry Betty? Wouldn't you, in
my place.'

" It was a pretty hard question to answer,
wasn't it? Between a man and his dearest
friend. You know, Polly, men are a lot
squarer with each other than women are.
And Phil didn't want to lie."

The girl on the edge of the couch gazed
at her friend with puzzled eyes.

"What on earth did he say?" she whis-
pered.

"He said, 'Bob — I don't know of any
reason why I shouldn't marry Bstty, if I
were in your place.'"

"Then he did lie? "

"Yes, I suppose he did, in a way. But
it was a perfect lie, because it was the
truth. There wasn't any reason why Philip
shouldn't have married me — that was true
enough — in fact, he was, in that particu-
lar sense, the only man in the world who
could. And yet, it was a lie, because Bob
was perfectly satisfied with his answer, and
went away very happy.

"Phil came to see me, that night. He
was cold as ice, and only stayed a few min-
utes. He told me what he had done.
'There isn't anything to prevent your
marrying Bob Otis, now, ' he said. Then
he went away. I could have hugged him.
And I didn't cry, that time, after he'd gone.
I laughed, from joy, Polly, and I'll bet
right now you haven't an idea why.

"It wasn't fifteen minutes after Phil left,
before Bob came. I was expecting him,
because he'd telephoned. He was mighty
sweet, and after talking for a little while
about things that didn't make a bit of
difference to either of us, he proposed to
me again. 'You see, Betty,' he said, 'a
lot of people have been gossiping — saying
that it's Phil you're in love with, and not

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The Perfect Lie

(Concluded)

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me. I don't think, as matters are, that
it's fair for you to keep me guessing any
longer. Of course, if Phil loves you — '

"I stopped him right there. 'Phil hasn't
asked me to marry him,' I said.

"'Well, I have,' he went on. 'And I
want you to give me your answer tonight.
We can go to the City Hall and get the
license the first thing in the morning, and
be married before noon. Then we'll go to
Europe for our honeymoon. My yacht's
in commission.' Attractive, wasn't it?
Bob is worth at least ten million."

"Attractive! I should say so. And you
accepted him? "

"No, Polly— I didn't."

"What? Why, I thought you said — "

"I rejected him, definitely, finally. How
could I help it? "

"But — after getting Phil to lie for you — "

"I didn't get Phil to lie for me. I left
it entirely to him. But oh, Polly, you'll
never know how much I hoped he would,
not on my account, but on his own. I
was testing him — trying to find out the
sort of a man he was. But you don't
suppose for a moment I had any idea of
taking advantage of that lie. Why — don't
you see, / was a perfect lie, myself. So
far as Bob was concerned. So although he
egged and begged, I told him there wasn't

bit of use — that I didn't love him, at
least not enough to marry him. Just let
him think me a mean, shameless little flirt.
It was a hard thing to do, for Bob is a
splendid fellow, and I hated to hurt him,
but there wasn't any other way, for me.
I don't know, Polly, how many bad women
there are in the world, and perhaps they
might not all have felt just as I did, but I
had to send Bob Otis away. And I was
sorry, because it hurt him.

"Yes, that's why he went abroad. "1 He
said he wanted to get away where he could
forget. I hope he has. Men usually do — ■
at twenty-four. "

"And how about you? What about your
broken heart? "

"Oh, Polly," the girl amongst the pil-
lows laughed a golden laugh. "My heart
wasn't broken! I was just — waiting — wait-
ing for something I thought there was just
one chance in a thousand might happen.
And I'd taken that chance, from the begin-
ning, because I knew it was the only one,
for happiness, I had. "

"Betty, you're too deep for me. What
on earth were you waiting for?"

"You silly — I was waiting for Phil. I
hoped he might come, sooner or later. Do
you imagine for a moment that I would
ever have married any other man? Haven't
you seen, from what I've told you, that I
loved him from the start? So I just wait-
ed, hoping that when he heard about my
refusing Bob, he might come back. And
he did. He said that I had done a wonder-
ful, a noble thing. T never thought so
much of you in my life, Betty,' he told me.
'To think of your sending him away like
that, when you loved him.'

"'I didn't love him,' I said. 'If I had,
I'd have married him.'

"I don't think Phil knew just what to
make of that. But he kept on coming to
see me, night after night, and I began to
hope that things might turn out the way
I'd always dreamed. I wouldn't even let

him hold my hand, of course, although if in New York!

I'd been as big a fool, as I was before, I'd
have been in his arms in two minutes.

"Love is a mighty queer game, Polly.
Remember what I tell you. A man always
values things by the difficulty he has
in getting them. Even diamond tiaras
wouldn't be worth anything if you could
pick them up on every street corner. The
truth of the matter was that Phil loved
me, and I had loved him, from the begin-
ning, but just because I'd been fool enough
to make myself cheap, he concluded I
wasn 't worth anything. When I refused
Bob Otis, with all his millions, it opened
his eyes. But still he wasn't sure. ,

"It was touch and go, for weeks. I'd
nearly lost him, of course. And there were
times when I just ached to feel his arms
about me — when I was weak, and silly,
and almost ready7 to take what I could get,
rather than hold out for something I
wasn't sure of at all. But I did hold out,
just the same. I said to myself, day after
day, 'Betty, you're going to be Phil's wife,
or an old-maid — one or the other. '

"Then last night came, just when I was
beginning to give up hope, and without any
preliminaries whatever, he said, 'Betty, I
want you to marry me!' Just like that.
Then he took my hand, and I let him. I
felt just like crying, too, for I'd waited so
long to hear him say it, and sometimes I
thought he never would. I don't suppose
I deserved it, either. But Phil, thank God,
really cared.

"So I looked at him as well as I could,
for my eyes were a little misty, right then,
and said, 'Yes, Phil, I'll marry you — if you
want me to. '

"That didn't seem to satisfy him, though.
T don't want you to marry me, because of
anything in the past,' he said, 'I'm not
asking you on that account. If you say
'yes' I want it to be because you love me.
Do you, Betty?'

"When he said that, I simplv couldn't
hold back any longer. 'Oh Phil— Phil! ' I
told him, 'don't you know?' Then I just
fell into his arms and stayed there. I don't
remember what we said — I was too happy.
We're going to be married next month."

The girl who was listening turned to her
friend and kissed her rapturously.

"Betty!" she exclaimed. "Isn't it just
splendid! To think you're going to marry
Phil after all! I can scarcely believe it.
And we all thought you were after Bob
Otis. I'm glad, dear — mighty glad, even
though Phi! hasn't any money. It's all
come out for the best. But what I can't
understand is, why you carried on with
Bob the way you did. We all thought you
were crazy about him. "

The girl amongst the cushions rose, and
looked at herself in the glass. A faint
smile hovered about the corners of her
beautiful mouth.

"Polly," she cried, "do you really mean
to say you don't know? After all I've told
you? Why — you "dear, silly goose, I ar-
ranged everything, from the start. Bob
was Phil's best friend. So I — I let him' fall
in love with me, of course. It was a terrible
chance, because Phil might have failed me,
but it was the only one in the world I had,
to get him back, so I took it. And it worked,
Polly — it -worked! I'm the happiest woman

How to Tell the Truth

PEAKING of moving-picture actors, a A few days later some of his friends bad-

O good story is told of one who was suing gered him about the mighty high opinion

a company for breach of contract. When of himself expressed in the statement. "I

asked by the court why he claimed so large know it must have sounded somewhat

a sum he replied, "It is because I am the conceited," he explained, "but I was under

greatest actor in the world." oath.sowhat could I doV'-BostonTranscript

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MT n\.HV'rL./l 1 ITJLrtUA^lA-* li"

,li" i . i i i i i i

«V» UIj^J

You Never Know Your
Luck

(Continued from page 21)
necessary and earnestly hope that in her
future pictures she will be allowed to
appear in her own natural beauty.

Alice and Ingram and I had dinner that
night at the Garden Court on Hollywood
Boulevard, and, by carefully concealing
from Ingram the fact that I was head-over-
heels about her myself, I managed to have
many other dinners with them. I even
succeeded in getting Alice to talk about her-
self. Her over-night rise to fame had, like
most over-night rises to fame, been pre-
ceded by years of strenuous and disheart-
ening work. She had moved to Los An-
geles with her mother when she was four-
teen, from Vincennes, Indiana, where she
was born in 1901; and shortly after her ar-
rival had been attracted to motion pictures
while visiting a studio with a girl friend.

Under her real name — yes, they changed
that too — which is Alice Frances Taaffe
(she is Welsh and pronounces it Tafe) she
worked as an extra at Yitagraph, Triangle
and other studios. If you are shy, there is
not much chance of having your work as an
extra noticed by directors; and poor little
Alice was shy and made no progress.

"Anyway," she said, "there were a few
kind-hearted people — William S. Hart and
Milton Sills among them — who used to tell
me that I ought to have parts, but some-
how no one ever dared give me one. I felt
so small and miserable, always looking over
stars' shoulders so that the camera would
pick me up and the company wo.uld get its
seven-dollars-and-hfty-cents' worth of me
every day, that I gave it up and went into
the cutting-room at Lasky's. That was
even worse, but I stuck at it for two years.
The confining work began to tell on me and
I worked again as extra for Metro.

"One day, when I was feeling completely
cowed and unusually wretched, Mr In-
gram walked across the lot, turned his head,
straightened out his eyebrows, and looked
right through me. I thought he was going
to have me arrested for trespassing. But he
didn 't. He — gave — me — a — part !"

The part was in "Shore Acres," and it
was little more than a "bit." But one can-
not have ability on an Ingram set and go un-
discovered for long. Mr. Ingram gave her
a bigger part in his next picture, "Hearts
Are Trumps, " and she saved a bad story
from being a bad picture. Then, despite
the fact that she was always frightened by
her importance and doubtful of her own
ability, she was cast for the part of Mar-
guerite Laurier in "The Four Horsemen."
Her remarkable work in this picture made
her famous; and the part of Eugenie Gran-
det in Mr. Ingram's latest picture, "The
Conquering Power," secured her a throne
on the cinema Olympus.

Thus ends the story of Alice Terry 's early
struggles. She is no longer suppressed by
worries, but though she is making a bit
more than the $18 a week she received in
her cutting-room days, she lives quietly with
her mother in the heart of Los Angeles five
miles from the studios, and does not own a
motor. There is no chance of her contract-
ing the dread disease "staritis, " for she is
enjoying life so fully that she gives little
thought to the success that makes the en-
joyment possible.

Oh, yes! The hero gets his reward, too.
Rex Ingram is going to marry the heroine as
soon as they can both get away from Holly-
wood at the same time. They will probably
be married in New York (Alice has never
been east of Yincennes) or in Europe, if Mr.
Ingram's plans work out.

"You see," says Mr. Ingram, who is
Irish and superstitious, "there's no luck in
Hollywood marriages. They don't last!"

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MISS VAN WYCK SAYS:

In this department, Miss Van Wyck will answer all personal problems
referred to her. If stamped, addressed envelope is enclosed, your questions
will be answered by mail. This department is supplementary to the fashion
pages conducted by MissVanWyck, to be found this issue on pages 62 and 63.

HENRIETTA, Columbus.— Yes,
skirts are to be longer. In fact,
they are already, in Paris. Mrs.
Lydig Hoyt, upon her return from
the French fashion center, told us that Paris
decrees that the short skirts are no longer
a la mode. Carol Dempster, the little film
actress, brought back many frocks from
Paris — but she has had them all shortened,
as she doesn 't care for long skirts. Neither,
I must confess, do I. With Betty Compson,
I say: "What do we care what Paris says
about skirts? They may know a lot about
clothes — I '11 admit they do — but this is one
matter in which I am defying them. Short
skirts are more comfortable, healthful, and
pretty than long skirts, and I, for one, am
going to continue to wear them!" Bravo!

Mrs. Norman. — Yours is a letter I will
keep and read again. I am so glad you con-
sider my advice about your little daughter's
dresses worth while. I will tell you now
that I am having, in my next month's
pages, frocks and hats for little girls just
your little girl's age! I wish you would
wait and look at these and then, if you wish
to know more about them, write to me. If
you have brown hair and brown eyes, and
a good complexion, there are very few colors
you cannot wear. Blue, I think, should be
your color — any and all shades.

Ruth L., Oak Park. — Until I read that
part of your letter in which you said you had
little natural color in your cheeks and did
not care for the other kind, I was about to
suggest that you make your informal even-
ing dress of black. But neither black nor
white would be as becoming to you as jade
green or pink. I am sure the green would
be charming. As for the style, please look
up the first of those three evening gowns
sketched on page 60 in the September issue.
This is a delightful dress for a young girl.

Mrs. O., Frankfort, Mich. — I am an-
swering most of your questions by mail.
But I want you to be sure to look at the
golf suit, sketched in my department, in
this issue of Photoplay. Knickers are
the newest, smartest, and most sensible
things for sports!

Miss Helen L. C, Old Mission, Mich.
— You ask so very many questions, I am
going to answer some in the Magazine and
others by mail, if you don't mind. For a
girl of your type, which you give me to
understand is not the fluffy, frilly flapper,
simple, straight lines would be more becom-

ing than intricate drapes. Do not make
your evening gowns so low. Young girls
should wear the neck line that was created
for them: that graceful, round line. You
should have a lace fan, rather than a feather
fan. Instead of carrying a bag about with
you, as you suggest, why not make one of
those silk arm bands, to match your gown,
in which there is room for a powder-puff
quite large enough for any pretty girl?

D. D., Illinois. — You wish to know if
your sister should bob her hair. I do not
flatter myself that I am competent to settle
this family question, but if you must know,
I approve of the bob and think she should
try it. She can always let her hair grow
again, you know. It depends upon the
woman as to what age she should discon-
tinue bobbed hair. I do not care for it on
an older woman. As to the banged style
affected by Mary Thurman, which is most
becoming to that delightful film star, it is
not suitable for every girl. The Irene
Castle bob is more generally popular. Yes,
Mrs. Castle was the pioneer in the bobbed
hair movement.

Ray Pullman, Wash. — For the girl of
seventeen, an organdie dress is quite all
right for informal wear. Gingham may be
worn in the morning and afternoon, but
hardly for the evening, particularly if you
are going to a party!

L. F. M., Texas. — Why don't you bob
your hair? Gingham dresses were much
worn during the past summer. For winter,
dresses of serge and tricotine made in the
simplest possible style are the thing for a
fourteen-year-old.

Curly Locks. — So the hair-dresser told
you bobbed hair was out of style! She
doubtless meant that women of all sizes and
ages are no longer rushing madly to "get
bobbed." But for young girls I shall al-
ways think that bobbed hair is the best.
When you get tired of it that way, let it
grow. While it is at the awkward length,
pin it under.

M. B., Binscarth, Canada. — It is per-
fectly all right to darken your lashes and eye-
brows. I have not heard of the powder you
mention but I will try to find out about it.
I know it is not being sold in New York.
Perfume is permissible, I think, if you do
not use too much of it, although many
women I know do not approve of it. Much
depends upon the perfume you use.

Chaplin's Unfinished Scenario

AMONG the papers found in the cabinet
of the late Edmond Rostand, premier
dramatic poet of modern France, were pre-
liminary sketches for an extraordinary
satiric play upon manners. It seems that
Rostand had heard, somewhere, the tragic-
comic story of the Englishman who in-
vented the derby hat — or, as our British
cousins say, the "bowler." According to
this grotesque narrative, when he appeared
on the street with his hard headgear the
unfortunate inventor was clapped into an
asylum. Emerging, ten years later, he

saw men of good taste wearing the very
headpiece for which he had been put away.
Rostand found such sad and universal
humor in this quaint fable of human frailty
that he projected a gigantic comedy upon
its groundwork. The comedy got no farther
than preliminary sketches. But what is of
especial interest is that Rostand had planned
this piece for one actor only — an actor, at
that, whom he had never seen in person.
It was to be placed at his disposal to do
upon the stage any time he saw fit. The
actor: Charlie Chaplin.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

How I Keep In Condition

(Continued from page 39)

to make the American woman exercise, and
onlv two, as far as I can see. I do both.

One is to sugar-coat her exercise with en-
joyment, the other is to give it to her with-
out any exertion on her part, which is the
Lew way coming into vogue so rapidly from
Sweden and Norway.

The first includes, of course, horse-back
riding, tennis, swimming, and golf.

I am a confirmed golf fiend. Some day
when I am through making pictures 1 am
going to become a golf champion or some-
thing like that. Yet I find that golf is too
strenuous for me when I am working eight
hours a day in the studio.

I will sometimes walk around nine holes
with my sister or a friend without playing,
if I have time. But that is enough.

Otherwise, at least four and sometimes
five times a week, I have home exercise
given me by a masseuse.

The Swedish girl who does this for me is
an expert. She understands every muscle
in the body. She places me on a table or
bed, and taking my ankles, makes me walk
or run two or three or four miles. She can
give me the same amount of actual exercise
while I am resting, relaxing comfortably
there as though I wore myself out on the
golf course. Then she hardens the muscles
and refreshes the skin with an alcohol rub,
which is also an excellent astringent, and
actually I am in a reposeful and vitalizing
sleep before she gets out of the room.

On Saturday — every Saturday for almost
a year — my sister Mary and I visit friends
who have a home in the Pasadena foothills.
Saturday afternoon when I arrive I walk
over nine holes of the golf course, take a
plunge in the swimming pool, have dinner
and go to bed.

On Sunday I play eighteen holes of golf,
at the Annandale club, which is within walk-
ing distance of my friends' home, have
another swim, and spend the evening play-
ing bridge.

Between pictures, when I am not working,
I play from nine to eighteen holes of golf
every day.

That is the program of my exercise, and
it is one that almost any woman can follow.
I advise it for any professional woman.

Regularity of existence — I think I am a
bit of a crank about that. The Scotch crops
out in me, I guess.

Xo one can keep fit, no woman can keep
her beauty, who does not lead the majority
of the time a regular, wholesome and more
or less systematic life.

Eat regularly and you will not need to pay
a great deal of attention to your diet because
your system will regulate the diet itself.
Have your breakfast, luncheon and dinner
on the dot if possible — set an hour, at least,
where you are most apt to be able to keep
it. Then, you see, you will eat only what
you need. Your body will call for its proper
amount of nourishment, and no more.

Be regular at your meals.

I have breakfast at 7:30 — luncheon at
12:15 and dinner at seven. I eat whatever
I want, of good wholesome foods. I do not
believe in trick diets unless there is some-
thing wrong that needs to be corrected.
That is getting in condition.

But my system of keeping fit is not an
expensive one. It is true that I am earning
a large salary. But I am not spending it.
My mother and I live on the same scale,
have varied our expenses very little since
we — Mary MacLaren, my sister and I —
were earning very little.

So that any woman of moderate means
can follow this program.

Fresh air, of course, goes with it all.

And it ought to insure to any woman who
is not organically wrong, perfect physical
well bein-;.

You Will See

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Film clings to teeth, gets between the
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Film absorbs stains, making the teeth
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Germs breed by millions in it. They,
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A.GNUTT

Jauirrel Cag

AN American tourist in Scotland took a great
fancy to a handsome collie he saw, and offered
to buy it. The owner asked some questions,
and on learning that it was the would-be pur-
chaser's intention to take "Jock" to America he re-
fused to part with the dog.

Just then an English tourist came along, and he
also made a bid for the collie, which, though less than
the first offer, was accepted The American was an-
noyed, and when the Englishman had departed, he
said: "You told me you wouldn't sell your dog."

"Na, na," replied the canny Scot. "I said I
couldna part wi' him. Jock '11 be back in a day or
two, never fear. But he couldna swim the Atlantic."
— London Opinion.

AN American politician, who at one time served his
**■ country in a very high legislative place, passed
away, and a number of newspaper men were collabo-
rating on an obituary notice. "What shall we say of
him?" asked one of the men.

"Oh, just put down that he was always faithful to
his trust."

"Ye.<." answered another of the group, "that's all
right, but are you going to give the name of the
trust?" — The Argonaut (San Francisco).

MEN have been known to eat butterflies, white
ants, frogs, June bugs, white mice dipped in
honey, mole soup, birds' nests, locusts, snails, cooked
chrysanthemums, and so on.

In the island of Formosa dogs' feet are considered
a great delicacy. People who read this may be hor-
rified, forgetting that they like pigs' feet themselves,
to say nothing of ox-tail soup and calves' brains!

In this country we employ bees only as manufac-
turers of honey, but in Guiana, when a Negro is stung
by a bee, he proceeds to catch as many of the insects
as he can and devour them in revenge.

The natives of Ceylon hold a torch beneath a bee-
swarm hanging to a tree, catch the bees as they drop,
take them home, and boil and eat them. — Til-Bits
(London).

"Two

Why

MR. I. G. NORANT (to dealer in antiques):
thousand years old? You can't kid me!
it's only 1921 now!" — Til-Bits (London).

A PROMINENT New York debutante recently
ordered "four seats on the aisle" at the theater.
When her party arrived at the performance they were
surprised to find themselves arranged in a column
instead of a row. Nothing daunted, the debutante
turned to the bored, middle-aged man next to her.
Surely he would not mind changing with her friend
in front.

"I beg your pardon," she said politely.

No reply. He must be deaf.

"I beg your pardon," she repeated, louder.

Still no reply.

" I beg your pardon," she said, bumping his elbow.

He took out a pencil and wrote on his program:

"That's my wife on the other side of me. Safety
first." — New York Evening Post.

TWO women, previously unacquainted, were con-
versing at a reception.

After a few conventional remarks the younger ex-
claimed : "I can 't think what has upset that tall man
over there. He was most attentive to me just now,
and now he won't even glance at me."

"Perhaps he saw me come in," said the other. "He's
my husband." — Tit-Bits (London).

A YOUNG lady in search of her husband, par-
ticularly if she lived in Massachusetts, where there
are only ninty-six and a fraction men to every hun-
dred women, would do well to consult the Census
Bureau, says "The Literary Digest." There she
would learn that in Nevada men outnumber women
by nearly half; that is, she would have a better chance
by one and a half times (theoretically) of getting a
life partner in the Sagebrush State. In Georgia, how-
ever, there seems to be just about the right number
of each sex to go around; the average for the whole
country, according to Washington figures, is 104 men
to every 100 women.

S"HALL I go over the top?" asked the talkative
barber, poising his shears.
" Yes, as soon as your gas-attack is over," answered
the weary customer. — The American Legion Weekly.

THE old wheeze about a robber holding up a police-
man has come true. It happened right here in
Los Angeles. We lead the world! — Los Angeles
Times.

ETIRST Doughboy — "Did you have trouble with
* your French while in Paris?"

Second Ditto — "No. but the Parisians did!" — ■
Western Christian Advocate (Cincinnati).

"(~\H, my dear, your skirts are creeping up!"

^. "Well, you know how it is — man wants but
little here below, nor wants that little long." — Bulletin
(Sydney).

" IV/IAUD says she puts her very heart into her cook-
l**ing." "She must have been heavy-hearted when
she made this cake." — Boston Transcript.

AS long ago as 1857 the Philological Society (philol-
*~* ogy is the science of language) decided to begin the
work of compiling a great dictionary which should
contain every word in our language.

A week or two ago the last word of the New Eng-
lish Dictionary was written. Nine huge volumes
have already been published; the tenth and last will
be on sale in 1923.

Sixty-six years will have passed between the first
approval of the giant scheme and its completion.
More than twelve thousand pages, each of which
measures about twelve inches by nine, densely cov-
ered with small print, are the results of the labors
of those who worked upon the dictionary.

Half a million words are catalogued and explained
in it; and the ways in which they are used are shown
by means of two million quotations from English
writers of all ages. — Tit-Bils (London).

TWO ancient coins were found clasped in the hand

* of a skeleton unearthed during excavations in
London. It is thought to be the remains of the first
Scotsman to visit the metropolis.— The Passing Show
(London).

"1VAADAM," said a man standing in the street car,
ivl"why do you persist '.i punching me with your
umbrella?"

"I want to make you look round so I can thank you
for giving me your seat. Now, sir, don 't go off and
say that women haven't any manners." — Boston
Transcript.

A NEW YORK jeweler foiled a bandit by biting
'» him. Barking at bandits doesn't do much good.
We have to make it snappy. — Minneapolis Tribune.

THE comedian was bantering the young actof.

* "Ah, well,' said the latter, with great self-satis-
faction. "So far the profession has brought me
bread and butter."

"And eggs, Arthur — and eggs!" said the comedian.
—Tit-Bits (London).

THE fellow who received a letter from the govern-

* ment telling him that his body had arrived from
France must have felt very much relieved to know
that he was no longer lying dead on foreign soil. —
The Argus (Seattle).

A SUDDEN sound of whistling disturbed the slum-
.berous air of the classroom, and the strains of
"I'm for ever blowing bubbles" floated over forty
small heads bent above forty small slates.

"Who's that whistling?" screeched the teacher,
as she recovered from her surprise.

"It's just masel'," answered Sandy Macpherson,
with true Scottish imperturbability. "Did ye no
ken ah cud whustle?" — Tit-Bils (London).
_

A MERCHANT was recently persuaded to purchase
an excellent parrot. This one had traveled far
and could jabber in several foreign lingoes. He or-
dered it sent home. That same day his wife had
ordered a fresh spring chicken(/or dinner. On leaving
the house she said to the cook: "Mary, there's a
bird coming for dinner. Wring its neck and have it
fried hot for Mr. Richards when he gets home." Un-
fortunately the parrot arrived first and Mary followed
instructions. At dinner he was duly served. "What's
this?" exclaimed Mr. Richards. Mary told him.
"But, for goodness sakes, Mary," he said, "this is
awful. That bird could speak seven languages."
"Then, phwy the devil didn't he say something?"
asked Mary. — Exchange.

THE charwoman's husband (at door) — "The missis
is very ill, ma'am, and won't be able to come this
week."

Lady — "Oh, I am sorry, George. Nothing very
serious, I hope?"

The Charwoman's Husband — "Well, ma'am, she
was so bad last night I 'ad to go to the pictures by
myself." — Punch.

HE begin to suspect that the War Department mis-
laid the slacker list and printed the Roll of Honor
as a substitute. — New York World.

"W/HAT sort of a time is your friend having on

" his motor tour?"

"Great! I 've had only two letters from him — one
from a police-station and the other from a hospital-
— The Bulletin (Sydney).

Every advertisement in rilOTOri-AY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising section

ioi

What the Well - Dressed
Man Will Wear

(Continued from page 49)

A wide latitude is permitted in vests;
even / am permitted in one, securing my
special brand from the manufacturer of
Ringling's circus tents. The fashionable
gravy shade in vests is favored by stout
men who dine out a lot. For the ultra-
economical, a crazy-quilt design that em-
braces all the courses from soup to nuts is
coming more and more to dominate. These,
however, may ultimately be replaced by
white vests provided with two secret hooks
each, upon which napkins may be hung.

The hard-boiled, or corrugated-bosomed
shirts will still be worn with evening clothes,
I learn. The movement started by the
Movie Leading Men's Union to inaugurate
a new style of stiff shirt provided with a
hinge located midway between cravat and
belt-line seems doomed to failure. In
bending over the fair ingenues' hands, they
will still have to take their chances. Men
of noble blood, on the screen, will indicate
the same when wearing evening clothes by a
long piece of red ribbon running from the
southeast corner of the shirt to the left
shoulder in much the same way as the
soldiers carried their packs during the
Spanish-American War (see Life of T.
Roosevelt). A few medals, which may be
found in any "prop"room, will helplendeclat.

Among the most interesting come-backs
in current masculine fashions is that of the
bandana handkerchief. A year ago, white
linen was the proper thing to blow in, and
the old bandana was in favor only in Bill
Hart pictures and Boy Scout circles. To-
day colored silk crepe bandanas may be
found in the hip pockets of the elite — some-
times they are the only things found there.

After suffering a temporary decline, frock
coats are coming into their own, particu-
larly among married men, who somehow
do not enjoy the same independence in
selecting garments for semi-formal wear as
those single-blissers who can rush into a
shop, buy whatever they like, and boldly
take it home without fear of censorship.
Undertakers, Sunday School superintend-
ents, and movie directors off-duty will con-
tinue to wear the frock coat. The younger
actor set has voted against it. What are
the young people of today coming to?
If anything.

I often receive inquiries as to what colors
or color combinations in men's wear the
Parisian designers are kittening to, and I
wish to make a general statement that this
season no color seems to dominate. The
colors are as peaceful as a Ladies' Aid
meeting before the first lady gets up and
leaves. The blacks and the whites are ly-
ing down together. The smart set in Lon-
don, I hear, is wearing a new kind of green
evening suit. This, is probably Sinn Fein
propaganda.

However, in the matter of colors it pays
to be discreet. One should not, for instance,
wear an orange tie and socks to match on
St. Patrick's Day or affect a red flannel
shirt when passing through a field contain-
ing one or more bulls. Speaking of the
latter my friend Bull Montana tells me that
cerise socks and gray cloth-topped boots
will be all the rage this summer. But
somehow I cannot credit this.

If the above remarks have helped you
in any way with your, or your husband's
summer and fall shopping, please do not
hesitate to let me know. I can stand any-
thing. With a little care and a good barber,
there is no reason why any man shouldn't
be as well dressed as Larry Semon, Bull
Montana, or myself. I've revealed the
secrets, the a la modus operandi, as it were.

Now, go to it !

A study of the foot in
action as shown by moving
pictures and used by Red
Cross shoe designers

How the movies gave to shoes
new charm and daintiness

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always trim and shapely — a charming
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Among this complete selection you will find the shoes to give your
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Write for the new Footwear Style Guide — sent without charge.
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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

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His looks brought him money in the bank, diamonds on the hand, and
automobiles in the repair shop.

Those Eyes — Those Ears
— Those Smile!

THERE isn't any use trying to get
away from facts.
Looks do count in the movies.
Every once in a while somebody
says they aren't going to any more.

But — there's Wally.

There's Tommie.

There's Tony.

And there's our hero —

Luis Montagna, by baptism.

Bull Montana, by popular acclaim.

"Bool Montan,'" to hear him tell it.

Now where would any of them be without
their looks?

Very early in life, Luis shook the dust of
Italy from his feet and left the spaghetti
fields behind him, while he set sail for the
land of the free. That was before prohibition
of course. He sailed, he told me, because
he was born of poor-but-honest parents.
He knows they were poor and he thinks
they were honest.

Today he has money in the bank,
diamonds on the hand, automobiles in the
repair shop and monograms on his silk shirt.

And his looks did it all for him.

Bull — who is called the Italian ray of
sunshine around the Lasky lot — started
acting as a wrestler. Dramatic critics al-
(ways refer to him as a wrestler and sporting

writers always refer to him as an actor.

Wrestling improved what nature had
begun. There was a wonderful face to
start with, but after our hero had grappled
v.'th numerous Russians from Iowa, Swedes
fro.n Indiana and Turks from the Ghetto,
not even Mama Montagna would have
known her little Bull.

Those eyes. Those ears. That mug.

Douglas Fairbanks was the papa of Bull's
screen career. The energetic Doug needed
an athletic trainer and court jester at the
Lasky lot. Bull was not hired as an actor.
But if a man has the looks, you can't keep
him away from a camera.

Soon Bull was on the road to fame, for-
tune and silk shirts. For two years he
stayed with Fairbanks at the Lasky studio.
Then he played with Blanch Sweet in the
"Unpardonable Sin," with May Allison,
Bert Lytell, Tourneur and Neilan.

When they needed a 100 per cent crook
to support Roscoe Arbuckle in "Crazy to
Marry," they brought Bull Montana back
home.

He came like a conquering hero — some
different from the lad who had entered the
same portals four years before. He had his
large, red automobile and he had a chauf-
feur. He wore a shirt that suggested battle,

Every advertisement in rnOTOfLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

103

Those Eyes — Those Ears
— Those Smile!

(Concluded)

murder and sudden death. He wore yellow
gloves, and he smoked a cigar which a bank
president need not have hesitated to
inhale.

He arrived like a loud noise.

But he was a bit sad. Only the day
before he had sought to pass the examination
for American citizenship.

"The Mister Judge talk ver' nice," he
admitted, "but he ask too many fool
question. He say to me, 'Your name,
plees.' I look him and laugh. 'Ev'rybody
know me, Judge, your Honor,' I say. 'Look
me^over, you see here Bool Montan', great
actor.'

"I answer all question ver' good. Twice
I guess and I guess bad. He say, 'How
many judges on Supreme Court?' I think
quick, say 'One.' That wrong. I lose.

"Then he say, 'Who wrote the constitu-
tion of Unit' States?' I say, 'Mister Vol-
stead.'

"He say, 'Bool, you know too much.
You study more, I make you citizen some-
day, maybe.

" I say, 'Goo' by,' and walk out fast to go
find out who Mist' Volstead get to write dat
Constitution for him."

Bull Montana is getting on in the world.
He has a sense of humor. He lets a lot of
people think they are kidding him when he
is kidding them. He is an absolutely in-
valuable member of the screen actors. He
gets a lot of fun out of life and makes a lot
of fun for others.

And he swears he carries that cane to
fight off the ladies since he became popular.

It's the looks does it.

Charter Granted
For Safe And
Sane Sundays

"rr-iHE Anti-blue Law League of America"
I is the imposing name of an organiza-

■*■ tion recently granted a charter by the
Sate of Delaware. Its aim is to exploit,
throughout the United States, propaganda
that will work toward safe and sane inter-
pretations of the institution of Sunday.

Andrew G. Smith is treasurer and general
counsel of the League, whose principal
office is in New Castle County, Delaware.
Any person having reached the age of
twenty-one years, and who is a citizen of
the United States and not a member "of
any organizaton favoring overthrow of
constitutional governments or the destruc-
tion of private property," is eligible to
membership.

The objects and purposes for which this
corporation is formed are:

"(a) Particularly to promote and
protect the American Sunday as a day
of rest, religion and recreation; opposed
alike to the open Continental Sunday
and to the austere Puritanic Sunday
of the Seventeenth Century; both being
foreign and unAmerican.

"(b) Generally to voice conservation
against the extremes of present day
propaganda which would destroy liberty
with libertinism on the one hand, and
with purgatorial repression on the
other.

"(c) To stand uncompromisingly for
constitutional government, obedience
to law and respect for those in au-
thority."

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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

ANITA STEWART

who has just completed
her newest production

"The Invisible Fear"

ASSOCIATED First National Pictures, Inc., believes that only through
L independent stars and directors can the best pictures be obtained.
The very fact of their independence is an assurance that they will give
their best efforts to working out their own ideals. He does the best work
who is his own boss, unhampered by outside influences.

First National accepts the work of these independent artists for exhibition
purposes strictly on its merit as the best in entertainment.

This is a nation-wide organization of independent theatre owners who
foster the production of more artistic pictures and who are striving for the
constant betterment of screen entertainment. First National pictures are
the work of independent artists distributed by independent theatre owners.
Watch for its trademark on the screen at your theatre — the trademark
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Associated First T^ational Pictures, Inc.

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Everyadvertisement in
PHOTOPLAY is guar-
anteed, not only by the advertiser, but by the pub-
lisher. When vou write to advertisers please
mention PHOTOPLAY.

Life in the Films

(Continued from page 41)

\ enetian chairs, Japanese vases, Jacobean
what-nots, bird cages, marble pedestals, tea
wagons, lithographs, plaster casts, Paisley
shawls, boudoir screens, brass lanterns,
ancient cutlasses, medieval armor, coats-of-
arms, incense burners, bronze pots, cedar
chests, bowls of gold-fish, Copley prints of
the Pre-Raphaelites, piano lamps, ivcry
elephants, and numerous other decorations
from which any sane artist in real life would
flee in horror.

These opulent studios of the film resemble
nothing so closely as a Fourth Avenue
auction room on Monday morning. There
is no space in them to move about in, much
less to paint. But then, the motion picture
artist of wealth rarely paints. His days are
spent in luring innocent models to their ruin,
ordering his butler about, and serving tea.
At night — in common with all the painters
of the Quartier — he attends masked balls
and scatters confetti until dawn.

In attire the wealthy painter of the films
cannot be distinguished from the impecuni-
ous painter. They both buy their tam-o'-
shanter, their velvet waiter's jacket and
their corduroy bloomers from the same
gents' furnishing house. Only in the matter
of hirsute adornment can they be dis-
sociated. The poor painter is clean shaven ;
the rich painter wears a small waxed
moustache, and is, therefore, a man of low
character and loose morals, with whom no
honest working-girl is safe.

Suggesting
Bad Manners

WHILE the professional citizenfixits
are blaming every unsolved crime on-
to the "influence of the movies" it
may be well — amid the smiles that intelli-
gent persons must give these busybodies —
to remember that there is a very real
"influence" of the movies which the calam-
ity howlers, busy predicting the damnation
of the adolescent, have seldom given thought
to.

The power of optic suggestion to a child
of very tender years is tremendous. It is far
greater than later in life; it is greater than to
boys and girls of twelve or fifteen, simply be-
cause a very young child's mind is per-
fectly plastic, and willing to receive any
impressions.

The child does not understand much
about crime and malice and evil intent.
That comes a little later, with the dawning
of a sense of right and wrong. But even a
baby understands manners; not to yell, or
slap or pinch are among the very first things
he learns. He will learn from some films
that the very things that have been drilled
into his dawning consciousness at home are
not ill-bred, but funny and even clever.
There is the instance of the little girl who
developed a savage propensity of kicking
and striking her nurse: analyzed, the baby
had seen her father and mother laugh at
such antics in the theater, and thought it
funny enough for anyone to do.

Of course, here is a proposition on which
no definite exhortation can be given: no
definite rule laid down. In general, all
physical humor is ill-manhered, and derives
its very zest from such burlesque of gentil-
ity. But there are comedians — and again,
comedians. And certainly some of those
who dance across the vacant cloth are to be
discouraged as tutors of a future breed of
boors and uncouth aboriginals.

Every advertisement in rilOTOr'l.AY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

With Music By-

{Concluded from page 54)

I05

All the changes of action, character and
mood are then blocked off and set down in
tabulated form, one under the other. The
film is again run at the correct speed, and,
with a stop-watch (accurate to one-fifth of
a second), he times the length of each
change, and makes a notation of it.

With the entire picture thus blocked off
and timed, he begins to jot down sugges-
tions for the themes of the different char-
acters, the quality of music for each scene,
the type of melody which will fit the various
moods, and the harmonic development
demanded by each bit of action. From his
extensive knowledge of classical, operatic
ami popular music, he makes such selections
as are best adapted to his needs, and spends
days on original themes, paraphrases and
transcriptions with which to intersperse
these selections.

Then comes the process of welding and
moulding them into a compact and con-
secutive whole. This is a gigantic and
difficult task, for changes are constantly
being made in the picture; scenes are being
transposed; footage is being altered, inter-
polations made, and "shots" omitted.
And each change in the picture means that
the score must be recast, the sequence
altered, and new modulations introduced.
The final score is rarely ready until a few
days before the opening.

The most important part of the work on
the music for a picture is the orchestration.
One of the secrets of the effectiveness of Mr.
Silver's scores is his resourceful manipula-
tion of the various instruments. He builds
up his orchestration in such a way that the
instrumentation, as well as the music itself,
interprets the picture.

For instance, he uses different instru-
ments to symbolize different types of people;
and for comedy scenes he makes comic
instrumental combinations, such as the
oboe-bassoon duet in the "chatter-box"
theme for the old gossip in "Way Down
East." In this same picture the hard-
hearted landlady is characterized by the
bassoon and clarinets, playing a low, harsh
minor theme. And the suave, handsome
villain is always accompanied by a sensuous,
"slimy" melody, which constantly changes
as his manner changes. Then for the
innocent country-girl there is a simple sweet
melody, simply orchestrated, with the violin
dominant, and a 'cello obligato.

In "Dream Street" the crooked, smug-
gling pawnbroker has a portentous theme,
mysterioso, given to the bassoon and muted

horns, and accompanied by the violins
pizzicato. When the evil fiddler, in the same
film, wears his attractive mask, the orches-
tra plays "Un Peu D' Amour" as a violin
solo; but when his mask is removed and his
hideous features are visible, the same theme
is played brutally, with broken chords and
ugly intervals, by the French horns and
bassoons.

And herein lies the difference between the
technique of Mr. Silvers and that of the
other film composers. Mr. Silvers plays to
his characters and their thoughts and to the
individual action and emotion; whereas the
average musical interpreter of motion
pictures plays only to the scene or to the
general setting. Moreover, in a scene
where there are several characters present,
Mr. Silvers uses all their different themes as
counter-melodies, as in a fugue; and the
theme which dominates in the polyphony is
the one which belongs to the character who
is dominating the action

The first important film to have its own
musical score was "The Birth of a Nation,"
and since then every D. W. Griffith picture
has had its special music, which has been
played at every performance. Indeed,
considerable credit is due Mr. Griffith for
sensing the value of music for motion
pictures, and for giving the impetus to its
composition. He always sends several
musicians on the road with each of his
pictures to augment the local house orches-
tras; and in order to make sure that the
music should go right at the opening per-
formance of "Way Down East" in Los
Angeles, he had Mr. Silvers make a special
trip across the continent merely to conduct
the orchestra for this one performance.

It was Mr. Griffith who saw and recog-
nized the genius of Mr. Silvers, and who
gave him his present unique position as the
first composer permanently allied with a
motion picture producing organization.

Mr. Silvers, though only thirty-one, has
been an orchestra conductor and composer
for sixteen years. To him, more than to
any other man, is due the credit for perfect-
ing a new form of interpretative music in
connection with the art of the cinema. And
though he builds his technique on that of
the Wagnerian opera motif, he has never-
theless achieved a distinctive means of
markedly heightening our appreciation of
the silent drama; and so sound and effective
are his methods and theories that future
composers of cinema music must inevitably
follow in the path he has blazed.

The Missing "Classic Role1

ONE of the things which the films have
not yet developed is the "classic role."
The classic role of dramatic and narrative
literature is simply the re-told story; the
story which does not wear out by endless
repetition. In books it is some great or
universally-known subject, which from
epoch to epoch challenges afresh the delin-
eating authorial mind, and provokes suc-
ceeding visions from innumerable angles.
On the stage it is a great play or a great
part, or else a tremendously appealing play
or a dramatic character whose human inter-
est is perennial. In literature we have the
oft-told "Faust" legend, or the aftermath
of the Napoleonic wars, or the legend of the
wandering Jew, or the stern, grim, yet ever
more human Pilgrim Fathers. Behind the
footlights the great Thespians of each gener-
aton rise or fall in their essays of Hamlet or
Sir Charles Surface or The Misanthrope or
Oswald Alving — while actresses are per-

petually intrigued by the damp Camille or
the doughty Katherine or the elusive Hedda
Gabler or the awakening Nora Helmer.

Of course the perpetuity of the picture
argues against such classicism as that of the
stage, where each creation vanishes as
quickly as vapor on a cold morning. It is a
disadvantage where fifty years hence, the
master's work may be seen in the ultimate
detail of his greatest performance merely by
snapping on an electric current. Neverthe-
less, the screen will and must develop clas-
sics of its own. It is already developing
repetitions of its fine parts, but these, so far,
have been repetitions of production mainly,
in which the inadequate mountings of half a
dozen years ago have been put to shame by
the gorgeous housings of today.

When two, three or more actors take suc-
cessive turns at some great human role, yet
to be embalmed in a scenario, the screen
classic will have arrived.

Above. Elliot Best & Co.. in one i
vaudeville's snappiest musical acts,
equipped with Conn wind instruments.

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The Gray Brothers

(Continued from page 29)

haunts. They had subjected me to an ex-
perience that was the equivalent of an actual
execution in order that I might be forced to
judge under the stress of such a situation,
the case of Jerry McWilliams, a man await-
ing electrocution in Lester prison and to
whom I had denied a commutation."

"You did commute him. I've always
wondered why."

"I couldn't help it," the Governor re-
plied. " McWilliams' story as I heard it in
that death cell — I verified every detail
after my release — convinced me he did not
deserve death. My conscience forced me to
commute him."

The police commissioner leaned forward,
his face set in lines of fixed resolve.

"Governor, this sort of thing cannot be
permitted," he declared. "Today this band
had the amazing insolence to send me an
accurate stenographic transcript of secret
instructions I gave personally in my private
office. The Gray Brothers must be crushed.
You agree with me?"

"I think I do," the Governor conceded
with slight hesitance. "And yet — some-
times I have wondered whether such a check
as the Gray Brothers enforce against mis-
carriage of justice and possible misuse of
police authority isn't needed. Well, do
what you like with the Gray Brothers but
do this for me personally. Find the man
who was my cell-partner in that death-
house. He is either the Gray Brothers'
leader or a dominating personality among
them. You'll know him by his hair. It
will be like this."

The Governor whipped off a wig and
showed a closely cropped head with a round
spot in the center of the crown that had been
bald.

"This man's head was shaved in the death
cell when mine was. When you trap a Gray
Brother chieftain with a hair-cut like mine
bring him to me."

" I will. And, meantime, in the matter of
the Hartley letter — "

"That's gone beyond recovery," the Gov-
ernor interjected regretfully. "The Gray
Brothers will have been paid their price for
it before now. Surely that is blackmail.
You're right, Commissioner. The Gray
Brothers are to be stamped out of exis-
tence."

III.

J ARID Huested reached his home just be-
fore midnight after an evening of political
addresses in which he had flayed the corpo-
ration subservience of his opponent. With
him was Jerome Whelan, State Senator and
the Governor's friend and political adviser.

"The people don't quite credit my accusa-
tions against Hartley," Huested declared
gloomily. "They have been buncoed so
often by fake reform that they are skeptical.
I could feel their attitude at tonight's meet-
ings, Senator. In their own minds they
demand proof. That Hartley letter would
have won us the election. Its loss may de-
feat me."

"Does McElvoy give you any hope that
he may recover the letter?" asked Whelan
with keen interest.

"None. From beginning to end this
matter puzzles me. How did they know the
letter was in my desk? Why did they send
it to me, unasked and without a price, if
they are now willing to sell it to the highest
bidder, as confessed in their note?"

"A locked desk would be the obvious
place to search for a document of such value
and as for their willingness to sell out, what
else would you expect, Governor, from a
band of criminals?"

"Of course, you're right. It shouldn't
surprise me — the theft, I mean — and yet,"

the Governor paused, troubled perplexity in
his eyes. " I am surprised. From my judg-
ment of them and their chief, based on a
three days' personal experience in his com-
pany, I wouldn't have pronounced him
capable of this.""

"You spent three days in the company of
the Gray Brothers' chief?" echoed the legis-
lator in amazement.

" I did, and it was the strangest experience
of my life, Senator. Come into the library
and hear it."

The Governor pressed a light button
within the darkened library and found him-
self facing a masked man.

"Don't be alarmed," said the intruder
quickly. "I'm not here to harm you,
Jimmy — beg pardon, Governor, but you'll
always be Jimmy Holman, my cellmate, to
me."

Senator Whelan made a backward step
toward the door he had just entered. In-
stantly the masked man sprang behind him
and turned the key in the lock.

"Now we three need not fear intrusion —
nor a premature breaking up of our confer-
ence," he said. Then to the Governor:
"What may I have the pleasure of doing for
you?"

"Why are you here?" demanded the
Governor.

" In your conversation in this room today
with Police Commissioner McElvoy you
said this, Governor, if my memory serves:
'Find the man who was my cell-partner in
the death-house. When you locate a Gray
Brother chieftain with a hair-cut like mine
bring him here.' And so, here I am."

THE Governor sagged back weakly in
his chair.

"Are you man or devil? Do you know
everything that is said behind every wall in
this city?" he gasped.

"Only those things which seem worth
while overhearing. But let's get to business.
You want to know how and why the Hartley
letter was stolen from your desk. Also who
stole it. "

"I do."

" Well, Governor, before I leave I contract
to answer those questions. But first let
us run over the facts — when you received
the letter, what you did with it, who was
present when you last saw it."

"The letter together with a note from the
Gray Brothers, with which I judge you are
familiar, reached me in the morning mail,"
the Governor replied. "I phoned for my
adviser, Senator Whelan, at once and dis-
cussed with him the propriety ol utilizing
such a document obtained under such cir-
cumstances."

"He advised against using it," the masked
man interjected.

" He did," continued the Governor. " Be-
ing somewhat in doubt on the question I
locked the letter in my desk and spent the
afternoon with Senator Whelan in keeping
political engagements. Early this evening
when I returned with Police Commissioner
McElvoy my desk was as I left it but the
letter was gone. In its place I found a note
signed by the Gray Brothers — a note with
which, also, you are doubtless familiar.
Those are the facts."

"Not all of them," corrected the visitor.
"You have neglected to state that before
you locked the letter in your desk you were
absent from this room for ten minutes while
the Senator personally was typing at your
request his confidential estimate of your
probable pluralities in the several boroughs
of New York."

"Your information is amazingly correct,
though I fail to see its particular perti-
nency."

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The Gray Brothers

(Continued)

"You will soon. Now to sum up. In the
light of all the facts, I think I am justified in
asserting that either the Gray Brothers
stole your letter; or that you stole it your-
self, Governor; or, lastly, that your friend
the Senator is the thief."

" Your last suggestion is absurd. Senator
Whelan is my friend and confidant," insisted
Governor Huested.

"What we want to know from you is,
where is that Hartley letter now?" inter-
jected Whelan brusquely.

"Here," answered the Gray Brother, pro-
ducing it.

Involuntarily Senator Whelan's hand
snapped up toward his breast pocket. His
cheeks grew a pasty white.

"Where did you get that letter?" he de-
manded.

"It was taken from YOUR pocket, Sen-
ator, at my direction by the two pick-
pockets who jostled you and the Governor
rather roughly, you will remember, as you
were leaving this afternoon's meeting in
Brooklyn."

"You lie," shouted Whelan furiously.

"Do I? We'll see. Produce that wallet
for which you unconsciously reached when
you saw I had the letter you thought safely
hidden in your coat pocket," snapped the
Brother.

" I'll do nothing of the kind."

"Produce that wallet, quick!"

On the heels of his command the masked
man rolled back his coat, revealing a gun
slung beneath his arm. Slowly the Senator
drew out the wallet.

"Now read the slip you will find inside
the sheets my men substituted for the
Hartley letter."

Obeying, Whelan read:

" Robbing a sneak thief like you
who has stolen from the Governor,
his friend, is a pleasure for which we
acknowledge our indebtedness.

The Gray Brothers."

"/GOVERNOR, these crooks have ' framed'
VJ thison me," the Senator protested in-
dignantly. " Do you credit this wild yarn? "

The Governor's troubled eyes looked
straight into his friend's.

"I can't. I don't," he answered.

"I'll give you final and undeniable proof
that the Senator robbed you," interposed
the Brother. "He has been the creature of
Interborough Traction to whom the Hartley
letter was written for years. While you
were out of the room he took the letter from
your desk and in its place put the note he
typed on your machine and did us the honor
to sign 'The Gray Brothers.' You will
remember, Governor, you did not lock your
desk until you returned. Meanwhile — this
was your blunder, Senator — Whelan phoned
Robert Montagu, political manipulator for
the traction interests, from this room and
promised to be at his home at midnight to-
night with a document he said was ' worth
$100,000 to Interborough.' It's just mid-
night. I will call Montagu now, impersonat-
ing the Senator, and with you listening in
on the line, Governor, I predict you will hear
him fully confirm my charge that Senator
Whelan is expected there at this moment
with Hartley's letter."

The phone conversation with Montagu
was conclusive beyond the possibility of
denial and the Governor, at its conclusion,
handed his exposed friend his hat and coat.

The latter left the house in sullen silence
and eyes shot with a threatening glint of
red. Hurriedly, he found a phone and
called Police Commissioner McElvoy.

"Do you want the leader of the Gray
Brothers?" he inquired. "I guessed you
would. He's in Governor Huested's home

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The Gray Brothers

{Concluded)

"Why did you take the risk of obtaining
the Hartley letter and present it to me with-
out a price-tag?"

The safe-cracker smiled across the table
at the Governor — a queer, quizzical smile
characteristic of the man known the coun-
try over in police records as Boston Blackie,
master among master crooks.

"Our primary purpose was selfish," here-
plied. "Hartley has agreed, if elected, to
make Con Kennedy warden of Lester
prison. Kennedy is a grafting politician
and a prison reactionary. He would make
Lester the sort of prison the Gray Brothers
know to be a public menace as well as a bar-
barism. Also, as Governor, you have kept
square with a square conscience and we be-
lieve in such Governors. So I myself opened
the Interborough vault and took the letter
that will return you to the capitol for
another term."

"But the risk, man!" the Governor per-
sisted with frank curiosity.

Again the confessed safe-robber smiled.
"The risks are what make this game worth
playing and life worth living," he answered.

The Governor's eyes wandered to his
telephone.

"I'll never be content until I learn the
secret of the magic that enables you to over-
hear whatever is said in my home, in the
office of the police commissioner, wherever
you choose," he said.

"The greater the mystery, the stranger
the apparent facts, the simpler the solution
always is," answered the Brother. "I'd
gladly give my death cell partner, Jimmy
Holman, the details. But my pal Jimmy is
also a Governor, and as Governor there are
some things he can't afford to know. Which
reminds me that if you'll allow me five
minutes alone in this room I'll guarantee
the sanctity of anything said within it
henceforth."

AS the door closed behind Governor Hue-
sted, Boston Blackie stooped beside the
telephone and unscrewed from it what was
seemingly a patented sanitary mouthpiece.
The disk that covered the mouth of this
apparently commonplace transmitter was
selenium, most sensitive of all sound re-
ceivers. Within the mouthpiece and hidden
by the disk were tiny wires that hooked into
the phone wires beyond the earpiece con-
nection, thus establishing a permanent cir-
cuit from the selenium transmitter irrespec-
tive of whether the earpiece of the phone
were on or off its hook. Blackie snipped off
the wires and screwed into place a com-
monly used sanitary transmitter that seemed
the exact duplicate of the delicate mech-
anism that had preceded it.

"The battery and wireless projecting
point that lead off on the roof from these

phone wires will never be found nor under-
stood if they should be discovered," he
assured himself. "One of my privately
manufactured mouthpieces plus a phone
wire to the open air and I have a never-
sleeping ear wherever I choose and a voice
that will repeat even a whisper across the
city to the Gray Brothers' private wireless
telephone station and the night and day
crew there who transcribe for me."

When the Governor returned 'Blackie in
his overcoat and hat' was standing behind
the shelter of a portiere gazing amusedly
into the street. He called the Governor to
his side.

"See!" he chuckled. "In the shadow of
the house opposite are a squad of our police
commissioner's detectives. The Senator lost
no time in phoning McElvoy that I, chief of
the Brothers, am in the home of Governor
Huested. They expect to trap me as I
leave."

"They will," exclaimed the Governor
anxiously. "McElvoy is determined to get
you and if he does — well, Jerry, even I dare
not free you."

"I won't need freeing until I'm caught
and as for those fellows out there in the
cold — " he snapped his fingers disdainfully.
"They haven't a suspicion that I guessed in
advance that the Senator would be in a
mood when he left here to phone McElvoy.
Therefore they expect me to do what they
would do in my place — walk unsuspectingly
out the front entrance into their arms.
Instead I prefer to walk safely away from a
rear door to the car waiting for me on the
next street. I have men posted behind your
home who would have warned me long ago
of any danger in that direction. My police
friends in front have a chilly, all-night vigil
before them — and a roasting from McElvoy
for breakfast when they turn up empty-
handed as usual."

Blackie turned to the Governor with a
laugh of boyish enjoyment.

"How my friend, the Senator, would en-
joy seeing me in stripes," he chuckled.
"Well, Governor, if you'll show me to a rear
exit I'll say goodnight."

There was real friendliness in the Gover-
nor's eyes as he gripped Blackie's hand.

"Goodnight and good luck, Jerry, old
pal," he said.

Maia stood before the open window of her
room. From the street far' below, though
the hour was after midnight, there floated
up the usual confused agglomeration of night
traffic noises. There was a smile on her
parted lips and the quiet peace of fulfilled
happiness lighted her face.

"He called me on the phone just to say,
'All is well, thanks to you, little pal,' " she
whispered softly. And then even more
softly: " Dear, dear Voice."

Slender Threads

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of successful plays, notably "Barbara Frietchie," in which Julia
Marlowe attained the first dramatic triumph of her career.
True, some rather astonishing liberties were taken, but the
germ idea was found in the poem.

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PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE ADVERTISING SECTION

Cutting Down

THE producers are "cutting down,'
according to announcements from all
of them.

Each succeeding period of deflation
in the motion picture business is greeted as
though it were the first in the history of
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The significant fact is that there is never
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situation.

Questions and Answers

(Continued from page 76)

Loretta. — Confidentially, Loretta, I have
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(Continued on page 120)

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Fool's Paradise

(Continued from page 48)

Poll never missed an opportunity. She
didn't miss this one. With a pang at her
heart she realized that for the time being
she was the woman Arthur loved. She
would beg more time and keep it up. She
slipped her hand beneath his arm and steered
him out of doors, on to the open road.

"Are your eyes bad?" her voice was
gentle, silken, Rosa's voice.

"Pretty bad. In France, you see . . .
I'm afraid I'm in perpetual darkness,
.Mademoiselle."

"Oh, no . . . oh, no . . . '

"Don't feel so badly. A man has had
worse. And your sympathy is sweet to me.
Besides," he achieved a smile, "my last
earthly sight was of your face. That will
carry me a long way."

"Do you care so much?" It was little
more than a whisper.

"So much," he answered, "that I must
not talk about it to you — now. But there
is one thing you could do for me — if you
would."

"Yes . . . .?"

"You could come into my shack with me
for one moment, so that, afterwards, your
presence will remain. You could . . .
ah, if you would, my dear, kiss me — good-
bye."

They were inside now. There was a
stillness. Then, as a mother might, as
tenderly; as a woman might, as passionately,
Poll drew his face to hers and kissed his
mouth. The compound of pain and tears,
of bitter tenderness and regret, smote his
spirit to acknowledgment. He tried to
speak, failed . . . Poll drew him to a
chair. She had stolen Paradise just then,
and the unutterable sweetness of the theft
was still upon her. Well, why not? Why
not prolong the theft? What did it matter
that he thought her Rosa Duchene, Rosa
Duchene who never, in her silly little life,
could have so loved him? She was Poll
and she had made him look like this.

WRITER'S DIGEST

611-D Butler Bldg.

CINCINNATI

NARRATED, by permission, from the
Paramount-Cecil B. deMille photo-
play. Scenarioized by Beulah Marie Dix
and Sada Cowan from Leonard Merrick's
story, "Laurels and the Lady." Directed
by Mr. deMille with the following cast:

Poll Patchouli Dorothy Dalton

Rosa Duchene Mildred Harris

Arthur Phelps Conrad Nagel

John Roderiquez Theodore Kosloff

Prince Talal-Noi John Davidson

Samaran Julia Faye

Manuel Clarence Burton

Pedro George Fields

"Arthur," she said, very softly, so softly
that he might not detect Poll Patchouli,
"Arthur, if you won't, I must. Will you
marry me, dearest? Will you let me stay
with you, here?" .

El Paso was sympathetic. The people
liked Arthur. He had worked hard and
minded his own affairs. They liked Poll
Patchouli, too. She had stood little or no
nonsense from Roderiquez and she had
always fought for right even in the cantina.
Their hearts were touched and their im-
aginations appealed to at Poll's act.

With Roderiquez alone she had trouble.
But Roderiquez was fundamentally a
coward. He knew that Poll meant business
when she told him her knife would reward
his tongue if he should open up. "This is a
matter of life with me," she told him, "for
you it's a matter of death if you interfere.
I take it you know better, Senor."

Roderiquez laughed. "When the angel
face gets back his light, Poll," he sneered,
"I'll get you back at the cantina."

"It won't matter then anyway," said
Poll, dully.

Fool's Paradise! How often the words
came from Poll's heart to her lips in the
weeks that followed. To learn, bit by bit,
day by day, of Arthur's great love for Rosa
Duchene. To have the dancer's hair
caressed, the dancer's eyes poetized, the
dancer's mouth kissed, and kissed again.
To learn that she had his soul, his senses,
his life's desire, that she was the only woman
he had ever loved. To pretend and pre-
tend and pretend while her spirit ached for
the reality. To taste the sweetness of the
knowledge that her money was making
him comfortable, her lies making anomalous
heaven of his earth.

Lies . . . how inspirationally they came
to her. The money . . . she had sold
his poems, she told him, and with laughter
wedded to tears she placed a slim cook-book
in his hands and told him it was the pub-
lished volume.

"At last, Rosa," he said to her, "at last
you and love are immortal."

Then came the great surgeon to El Paso.
He was to be there for one day. Roderiquez
told her of him, of the miracles he had
worked, the light he had evolved out of
darkness. Only one day. Then he would
go on, never, perchance, to pass that way
again. Arthur would never know. The
darkness would continue. The myth of
Rosa would continue. Fool's Paradise
would continue, with the ache that had
nurture from ecstasy. Arthur had said his
blindness was permanent. He ought to
know.

Ah, but how he loved color! How often
he had said to her, "Is the sunlight on your
hair now, Rosa? Making it gold?" Or
"Is the moonlight touching you, sweetheart?
How your white face must gleam, snowy
as samite!" Sacrifice. Ah, now she had
it. Sacrifice. That was the heart of
hearts in the beautiful body of love.

Poll called on the great surgeon. He
stayed over another day. When he left
Poll was assured that when the bandages
were removed at the end of the week
Arthur would see again.

He did. He saw Poll Patchouli, the
ridiculous Poll Patchouli. Roderiquez'
sweetheart. The cantina dancer. The
giver of the trick cigar. The intruder.
Poll Patchouli . . . . !

El Paso had almost forgotten Arthur
Phelps and the whole affair. If they re-
membered him at all it was because his oil
wells had suddenly spouted oil two years
ago and sent him across the world, a wealthy
man. Now and then when they talked
with Poll Patchouli they remembered that
for a little space of time she had been
Arthur Phelps' wife in the fantastic sense
of masquerade. They had told her she had
got what she deserved, but there wasn't
much fun in telling spiteful things to Poll
Patchouli any more. She never fought back.

Then, abruptly, Arthur Phelps came back.
To El Paso. To Poll Patchouli. He went
straight to the hotel where he thought she
might be working. She had torn up and
returned to him the substantial check he
had sent her when their marriage had been
decreed null and void and he had gone
abroad in search of Rosa.

At the hotel they told him she was again
in the cantina.

The cantina! Roderiquez with his sneer
and his burning eyes. What did this por-
tend to Poll! Poll, who had shown him that
he, he alone, had been the fool in the Para-
dise?

Well, he must see her, if only once.
From the illimitable depths of her tender
heart she would not refuse him a hearing.
He would go very cautiously, very softly.

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Fool's Paradise

(Continued)

He would beg her favor as, many times
in the past, he had spurned it. Then he
would tell her his stor> — the story of a fool,
in a fool's paradise. She would understand.

Like a badly constructed plot he told his
story — but as the denouement rather than
as the climax.

At the cantina Rosa received him, but
Roderiquez was by her side. "She is to
marry me this night," he told Arthur, and
the gazes of the two men riveted, locked.

Why, Arthur asked himself, had her
decision come with his arrival in El Paso?
Why, in the past two years, had this not

come to pass? Poll's eyes

ah, he had

it. Pride was urging her to this step.
Pride was a paltry thing as against the
fool's paradise she had given him.

Roderiquez was threatening now. "You
leave this cantina in five minutes or I
leave my knife with you," he said. "My
knife never missed its mark yet, Senor."

Arthur took out his watch. Three
leaden minutes ticked away. Poll cried
out to him, "Don't you know that he means
it? Why do you stand there like a wooden
thing? Arthur . . . !"

Arthur smiled at her. "Then come with
me," he said.

Poll shrieked her "No! No! I shall re-
main. You go, go, I tell you! We . . . I
do not want you here!"

Roderiquez thrust his hand into his
blouse. Poll screamed again. There was a
rush of intervention. Roderiquez' knife
found Poll's breast, interposed between
them. Over the blood gushing from the
sacrificial wound the two men stared at one
another, their faces breaking into com-
prehensive pity.

And so they were married again before
Arthur told his story, on his knees, beside
her convalescent chair.

"I found her in Siam," he said, as though
ashamed, reluctant, to tell of his stubborn
quest. "She was there collecting material
for some Oriental dances and also, as I dis-
covered, collecting suitors, notable among
them Prince Talat-Noi, a weird chap with
a darned shrewd eye, none the less. His
poor little native wife was having a frightful
time over Rosa, to which fact Rosa seemed
blissfully — conscious.

"At first, I thought she was a child, and
I made me an altar of her innocence and
prepared to offer up frankincense and myrrh
— my heart and my very bad poems. (That
cook-book, sweetheart !) The Prince seemed
to think the same, and we played battledore
and shuttlecock with her whims as though
they were matters of life and of death.

"She was having a royal time. We were
suffering. That came to me one day in a
garden when I told her of what you had
done and she laughed and said you were 'lost
to the stage.' Out of the tremendous thing
it was she could laugh . . . make a jest.
From that day on there was a taint to her
beauty. There was a shrillness to her
voice.

"I found Talat-Noi, too, regarding her
with inquiry as well as ardor. I had come
across half a world of pain, of travel, of
eagerness. I wanted compassion and I got
coquetry. I found myself wondering what
you would do. Then I found myself know-
ing. The surety of what you would do
enveloped me, warmly. My awakening
had begun.

"Talat-Noi invited us to witness the
yearly offering of a young lamb to the sacred
reptiles. It was a tremendous ritual to the
Siamese and tremendously loathsome to me.
Rosa, the Prince and I occupied a throne.
I could not help notice the personal prep-
aration of Rosa. Evidently she had
thought of the whole as a sort of background
for her beauty.

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Fool's Paradise

(Concluded)

"The entire performance was hideous,

and when I saw the tiny white lamb about

to be thrown to the reptiles I rescued it and

incurred the frenzy of the mob. Talat-Noi

stem managed to turn them off and save me, but

wind j he ordered me from the temple I had, it

SET seemed, profaned.' I had incurred the

wrath of the Sacred Reptiles.

"I bade Rosa come with me. Talat-Xoi
commanded her to remain.

" 'This,' he said to her, 'is the appointed
moment of your final choice. Make it here
and now.' There was authority in his
manner.

"I held her arm. 'Come!' I urged.

" It was borne in upon me that Rosa was
having a tremendously jolly time. She
saw herself as the heroine of a dramatic
occasion, Talat-Noi and myself as her sup-
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"Raising her glove she flung it into the

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pit of Sacred Reptiles. 'He who brings
back my glove to me,' she said, 'wins mel'
The words rang out, absurdly, profanely.

"Talat-Noi bowed his head. Through
his impenetrable Orientalism his essential
reaction remained hidden. He jumped into
the pit. For a woman's silly whim.

"Oh, well . . . the rest is brief. He
could not make it alone. I went in after him.
We struggled back — appropriately enough,
no doubt, to her feet, and I bestowed her
glove upon her. Still dramatic, she hailed
me as her love. . . . "

Poll's arms sought him and he smiled.
. . . "Does it matter what I said," he
finished, "except that I told her I belonged
to one woman only? That she loved no one
save herself and to herself she had better
remain true? Ah, then I knew, my dear!
After the half-gods go . . . you gave me
the sight of my eyes again and the sight of
my spirit, too."

Plays and Players

{Concluded from page 93)

RUTH ROLAND was dragged into court
the other day on the losing end of a
subpoena — and all because she hadn't cut
her lawn. Seems Miss Roland — who by
the way is reputed to be one of the wealth-
iest women in pictures — owned some lots
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she had failed to have the grass trimmed
to comply with fire regulations. So she
was forced to say "Good morning, judge.
I'll sure get that lawn cut right away if I
have to cut it mvself."

PAULINE FREDERICK gave a Rodeo
on her marvellous grounds in Beverly
Hills on Sunday, July 3rd, for the benefit of
the Los Angeles Orthopaedic Hospital for
crippled chi dren.

Probably nothing exactly like it has ever
been seen and it certainly did enormous
credit to Polly's big heart, charitable in-
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was raised.

A large ring was arranged, surrounded by
a small wooden grandstand, fenced in from
the boulevard by high canvas. The pro-
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brilliant in every respect.

Polly herself acted as hostess, master of
ceremonies, ring master and chief attraction,
I think, for she looked adorable on her
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bathing suit evidently intended for his
seven-year old son, almost brought down
the grandstand.

Among the many celebrities who attended
were the two latest honeymoon couples —
Mr. and Mrs. Tom Moore and Mr. and
Mrs. Buster Keaton. Mrs. Moore (Renee
Adoree) had a difficult time negotiating the
high steps of the grandstand in her ex-
tremely narrow skirt — and once seated
couldn't enjoy the show wondering how
she'd ever get down, but really she didn't
have a thing to worry about. She looked
perfectly sweet — as far as could be seen.
Mrs. Keaton (Natalie Talmadge) was in
sport costume of white silk, with a brilliant
knitted scarf. Madame Nazimova was
there, in a henna hat and a queer, but fas-
cinating looking smock affair of blue.

"TjID YOU KNOW that there are only two college
-^ women in motion pictures ? That out of the many-
beauties the screen can boast, only two have "college
educations ?" Why aren't there others ? If you want
to know, read November Photoplay.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Movies

in
1940?

Probable strides of

the screen in the

next two decades.

By
LYNE S. METCALFE

PICTURE theater patrons best know
the illuminated screen as a means of
entertainment, of thrills, of heart-beats,
of tears and of laughter. They have wit-
nessed the development of the topical
weekly, the travelog and the occasional
educational reel until each has become an
integral part of nearly every theater
program; each a novelty at the time of its
introduction and each marking a step for-
ward in the progress of the visual art.

But, there is rapidly developing what
might rightfully be termed the great "un-
seen movie world'* — the world that the
general public knows little, if anything
about; it is a world in which labor the
scientist, the advertising man, the teacher,
the employer of men and women and what
has been called the visual educational ex-
pert.

To most people, educational films merely
mean a screen exposition of flora or fauna,
mountain streams, biology, natural history,
possibly a little chemistry and mechanics.
Such reels are really very few. There is a
far more vital and important movement go-
ing forth in America which has as its basis
the almost endless possibilities of the motion
picture art. Little is known of these un-
usual productions for the reason that they
never see the screen of a moving picture
theater. They are seen, as a matter of fact,
but by few people; they are produced for the
eyes of only a few people. They are de-
signed to accomplish certain ends and re-
cent experiments have proved out theories
which a few years ago might have seemed
to be wild dreams of the enthusiast.

Some of these productions rival in photo-
graphic quality the best of our star dramatic
productions. They run from one reel to
five. They are the work of a few specialists
who are students of psychology, sociology
and personal efficiency.

They are produced for the men of big
business.

In downtown New York more than one
"big business" office has a portable moving
projector in the vault and a silver screen
that rolls up like a map. There is also a
clerk who knows how to run off the reels:
and for audiences, some of the richest and
most powerful men in America gather
around at intervals and watch the unreeling
of the pictures, made to accomplish the
purpose of the interests they represent.

Another service that the moving picture
is rendering is in the field of mechanics.
The perfection of the "X-ray" film has
interested the technical units of some of
our biggest industrial enterprises.

Now that films have made good as a
medium for the rapid transference of

1*3

How I increased my salary
more than 300%

Joseph Jnderson H§

I AM just the average man — twenty-
eight years old, with a wife and a
three-year-old youngster. I left school
when I was fourteen. My parents didn't
want me to do it, but I thought I knew
more than they did.

I can see my father now, standing be-
fore me, pleading, threatening, coaxing
me to keep on with my schooling. With
tears in his eyes he told me how he had
been a failure all his life because of lack
of education — that the untrained man is
always forced to work for a small salary
— that he had hoped, yes, and prayed,
that I would be a more successful man
than he was.

But no! My mind was made up. I
had been offered a job at nine dollars a
week and I was going to take it.

That nine dollars looked awfully big to
me. I didn't realize then, nor for years
afterward, that I was being paid only
for the work of my hands. My brain
didn't count.

THEN one day, glancing through a
magazine, I came across the story of
a man just like myself. He, too, had left
school when he was fourteen years of
age. and had worked for years at a small
salary. But he was ambitious. He de-
cided that he would get out of the rut by
training himself to become expert in
some line of work.

So he got in touch with the Inter-
national Correspondence Schools at Scran-
ton and started to study in his spare time
at home. It was the turn in the road for
him — the beginning of his success.

Most stories like that tell of the presi-
dents of great institutions who are earn-
ing $25,000 and $50,000 a year. These
stories frighten me. I don't think I could
ever earn that much. But this story told
of a man who, through spare-time study,
lifted himself from $25 to $75 a week. It
made an impression on me because it
talked in terms I could understand. It
seemed reasonable to suppose that I could
do as well.

I tell you it didn't take me long that
time to mark and send in that familiar
coupon. Information regarding the
Course I had marked came back by re-
turn mail. I found it wasn't too late to
make up the education I had denied my-
self as a boy.

I was surprised to find out how fasci-
nating a home-study course could be.
The I. C. S. worked with me every hour
I had to spare. I felt myself growing. I
knew there was a bigger job waiting for
me somewhere.

Four months after I enrolled my em-
ployer came to me and told me that he
always gave preference to men who
studied their jobs — and that my next
salary envelope would show how much
he thought of the improvement in my
■work.

Today, my salary is more than 300%
greater than it was when I beg-an my

studies. That increase has meant a bet-
ter home and all the luxuries that make
life worth while.

What I have done, you can do. For I
am just an average man. I hacV no more
education to begin with than you have —
perhaps not as much. The only difference
is a matter of training.

TO every man who is earning less than
$75 a week, I say simply this: — Find out
what the I. C. S. can do jor you I

It will take only a minute of your time
to mark and mail the coupon. But that
one simple act may change your whole
life.

rEAR out here:

INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS
BOX 6545 8CBANTON, PA.

Without cost or obligation, please explain how I can
qualify for the position, or in the subject be/ore which
I have marked an X in the list below: —

DELEC. ENGINEER

D Electric Lighting & Bys.

D Electric Wiring

O Telegraph Engineer

D Telephone Work

D MECHANICAL ENGB.

D Mechanical Draftsman

D Machine Shop Practice

□ Toolmaker

□ Gas Engine Operating
O CIVIL ENGINEER

□ Surveying and Mapping

□ MINE FOR'N or ENGR.

□ STATIONARY ENGR.

□ Marine Engineer

□ ARCHITECT

D Contractor and Builder
D Architectural Draftsman

□ Concrete Builder

D Structural Engineer

D PLUMBING & HEAT'O

D Sheet Metal Worker

□ Text. Overseer or Supt.

□ CHEMIST

□ Pharmacy

D BUSINESS MANAG'M'T
D SALESMANSHIP

□ ADVERTISING
D Railroad Positions
D ILLUSTRATING

a Show Card & Sign Ptg.

□ Cartooning

D Private Secretary

□ Business Correspondent

□ BOOKKEEPER

D Stenographer & Typin
D Cert. Pub. Accountant

□ TRAFFIC MANAGER

□ Railway Accountant

□ Commercial Law

□ GOOD ENGLISH

□ Com. School Subjects
D CIVIL SERVICE

□ AUTOMOBILES

□ Railway Mail Clerk
D Mathematics

B Navigation
Agriculture

□ Poultry □ Spanish

□ Banking I D Teacher

Street
and No.

Occupation .

or send
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WAVER CO.. A-117 W. 7th St., Cincinnati, Ohio.

Copy this Sketch

arid let me see what yoa can do
with it, Many cartoonists a^d illus-
trators earning $30.00 to $200.00 or
more per week were trained by my
personal individual lessons by mail.
Landon Picture Charts make

original drawing easy to learn. Send
sketch with 6c in stamps for sample
Picture Chart. Ion? list of success-
ful students, and evidence of what
you caoaccomplish. Please state aoo.
TNF LANDON SCHOOL

507 national 6ldg.» Cleveland,©.

Mkv ^WBL BBSS KK HSH

1A/F FT

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TRADE MARK REG.

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refreshes and invigorates. Bathasweet keeps the skin soft and smooth.
PERFUMES YOUR BATH-SOFTENS HARD WATER INSTANTLY

Three sizes, 25c, 50c and $1. At all drug and department stores or by mail. Send 2c stamp for sample.
Bathasweet imparts the softness of rain water and the fragrance of a thousand flowers.
"" " THE C. S. WELCH CO.

Dept. P-P. NEW YORK CITY |

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

ii4

J^MUrUfLAY IVlAUA^lJNfc, ADVfcKilSlINU OkClIUJN

Always say " Bayer' '

Unless you see the name "Bayer"
on tablets, you are not getting gen-
uine Aspirin prescribed by physi-
cians for 21 years and proved safe
by millions. Directions in package.

Aspirin is the trade mark of Bayer Manu-
facture of Monoaceticacidester of Salicylicacid.

California Bungalow Books

"Home Kraft" and "Draughtsman" each con-
tain Bungalows and Two Stories. "Plan Kraft"
Two Stories. "Kozy Homes" Bungalows. $1.00
each— all four for $3.00. De Luxe Flats $1.00.

DE LUXE BUILDING CO.

524 Union League Bldg., Los Angeles, Calif.

An Easy Way to

Remove Dandruff

If you want plenty of thick, beautiful,
glossy, silky hair, do by all means get rid
of dandruff, for it will starve your hair and
ruin it if you don't.

By morning, most, if not all, of your
dandruff will be gone, and three or four
more applications should completely re-
move every sign and trace of it.

The R. L. Watkins Co., Cleveland, Ohio.

Movies in 1940?

(Continued)

thought and ideas, we may safely predict
the course of this branch of the art say
twenty years from now.

In the first place, the 12 universities today
rendering a complete educational film serv-
ice will probably be incresed to three times
that many and instead of an average of 250
reels in their technical libraries, they will
have nearer five thousand. There will not
be a school house in the United States or
Canada — (Canada has progressed very far
in this direction) without its movie theater
and projection machine. There will not be
a school janitor in our cities who will not
also be a projectionist of ability and carry-
ing a union operator's card.

There will not be a text book that is not
supplemented with illustrations that move,
revealing, explaining the lessons and cutting
down the time of our teachers 60 per cent
because of the rapidity of thought transfer-
ence by means of visualization. Every
school child will spend less time in getting
an education because visualization by actual
test cuts down the study period 40 per cent.

New mechanical devices will be pictured
by means of animated cross section dia-
grams, for the benefit of prospective in-
vestors of capital.

The tiresome tables of statistics, which
nobody reads, will be vitalized by anima-
tion and the railway cars on our best trains
will entertain travelers with the best reels
on travel.

A half million homes in the United States
will be saving dimes for new movie reels to
project from the pocket size home projection
machines and the phonograph will find a
truly serious rival.

Every factory will have its movie show
at noon hour where instruction will be
sandwiched in between the 1940 successor
to Charlie Chaplin and Mary Pickford.

Domestic science will be taught quickly
to the rising generation of housewives in
high schools (as is already being done on a
small scale, with success).

The family album will be an "animated'
one and instead of a leather covered book,
it will be a series of film cans, stored away
for projection when the subjects are grown

up.

black, the film world or shadow world will
present itself in natural hues by means of
color cinematography.

Objects instead of being flat against the
silver screen, wiUJpresent scenes and objects
in perspective — thus leaving only one ele-
ment missing (and that may come by 1940
— who knows?) — the element of sound.

In 1940 there will be no flicker and no
sound from the projection room and film
will be nonburnable and not dangerous.

In 1940 the best creative brains in the
world will find their greates rewards in the
motion picture art and the literary tone of
the serious drama will be equal to that of
the better class novel.

There will be fewer pictures produced but
better ones and the public taste will no long-
er patronize trash but will demand pictures
with literary quality.

Surgery, which has already benefited by
over 100 reels of minor and major opera-
tions, performed before the camera by the
world 's greatest surgeons, will simplify the
work of the clinic by reproducing many
thousands of times the single operation per-
formed before the camera by the surgeon,
best qualified in all the world to perform it.

Dentistry, which has already a reel on the
teeth, will gain by visual exposition of its
soundest truths for the benefit of dentists
to come.

In 1940, moving pictures will be the great-
est power ever known in propaganda. The
man who can circulate a subtle built film
before the greatest number of people will
win his end no matter what it be. Tuber-
culosis, in cattle, hogs and human beings,
will be stamped out or reduced, by means
of the impressive warnings and lessons that
the moving picture can present — in terms
that even the illiterate can quickly under-
stand.

In 1940 the bedridden hospital patient
will lie on his back and watch the unfolding
of an interesting comedy on the ceiling,
thrown there by inverted projectors and
started by the hands of his nurse.

The soldier of 1940 will spend more time
in the darkened movie auditorium than he
will on the training ground — learning the
tricks of soldiering from the millions of feet

A business man will press a button beside of film now in the Government Laboratory

his desk and immediately start a movie on
the opposite wall while his visitor witnesses
intricate mechanical operations in the fac-
tory five hundred miles away.

Public parks will give the people free
movies instead of, or in connection with,
free concerts, on huge screens that can be
seen a block away or more.

The wonders of America's national parks
will be exploited in Europe on the screen;
American business will show foreign buyers
why our products are superior — by means
of the movie — in 1940. The armchair globe
trotter will sit back in his easy chair, pipe
in mouth, before the fire and climb the
Matterhorn or the Jungfrau, enjoy the

at Washington Barracks, being edited and
titled for West Point, Annapolis and the
various training camps.

In 1940, every convention will be "told"
in movies, with a liberal sprinkling of car-
toons. A dozen firms already have made
"annuals" of one reel or more, delineating
the firm's past year and predicting for the
future.

Twenty years from now, stock market
fluctuations will be projected on a huge
screen from a movie machine, showing by
means of the animated table the rise and
fall of stocks and bonds, graphically and
quickly.

The immigrant of 1940 will get his ideas

winter sports in the Engadine or the thrills on America from an illuminated screen —

of a lion or elephant hunt in Africa, merely possibly at Ellis Island.

by pressing a button, after having little The productivity of the farms of the

Willie or the housemaid pull down the United States will be increased because of

shades. the teaching value of films in the hands of

The public will get its pictoral entertain- county agents, with portable units, showing

ment on the movie screen instead of in the special Government Pictures at granges,

columns of newspapers due to the ever
increasing paper shortage. Topical Week-
lies will become topical dailies and the news
events of this morning will be pictured on
the theater screen tonight.

Athletic contests will be decided upon the
indisputable proof of the motion picture
made by means of the Novagraph or slow
motion process which slows down all actions
eight times or more.

In 1940, instead of gazing upon a flat
world of gray and white, with occasional

fairs, school houses and agricultural college
stations as is even now being done on an
ever-increasing scale.

In 1940, criminology will movieize every
crook, his gait, his face in motion, etc., for
the modern rogue's gallery.

Titles in moving picture dramas will be
written in good English, with no misspelled
words or typographical errors; material for
a half reel will not be padded out to five
reels; undesirable and cheap advertising will
not mar the screens.

Every advertisemcnl in PTIOTOn.AY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Movies in 1940?

(Concluded)

Moving picture operators will be able to
descend a mile or more under the sea, with
huge lights (they now descend several
hundred feet) and show, in brilliant colors
the flora and fauna of the deep in action,
so that the scientist can study specimens at
leisure and determine from the geological
features, many important facts concerning
the earth's age and stages of its growth.

Astronomy will benefit because of the
further development of the animated draw-
ing, already perfected to high degree J. R.
Bray has already produced an amazing
picture that startles the onlooker by weird
views, scientifically correct, of the surface
of Mars and Flammarion's radium-driven
torpedo which he believes would reach that
planet.

Movements of stars may be shown by
these diagrams, for study.

There is nothing mentioned in the fore-
going which has not already been accom-
plished to some degree or, which is not now
in the serious experimental stage, with in-
dications of rapid development.

By 1940 all of these ideas and more will
have been made entirely practical and may
be commonplace.

No invention since Guttenberg's printing
press has done as much for the development
of the human race as has the moving
picture. For a decade it has been con-
sidered a branch of the "show business,"
but it is more than that. Many of the
most serious minds in the country have
seized upon it as a powerful medium for
conveying information to the unlettered
and others, as every human being can under-
stand more of what he sees than of what he
hears or reads.

It Might Come to This

THE Great Author was about to witness
the first showing of the motion picture
adapted from his greatest novel. It
was a very private showing — held in the
film company's own projection room with
nobody present except the Great Author,
the president of the movie concern, the man
who directed the picture, and a flock of
publicity people.

The room was darkened, and the pre-
sentation flashed on the screen. (The Great
Author's name was in nearly as large type
as the assistant art director's. Which was
a concession!) From the first title the
G. A. seemed fascinated. As the story un-
folded scene by scene, his eyes were glued
upon the screen. His lips were parted in a
smile, and once in a while an exclamation of
pleasure escaped from between them.

The Great Author was obviously tickled
to death. The film producer, who had
glanced uneasily at the Great Author in the
seat beside him several times during the
first hundred feet, sighed with relief. The
chest of the director took advantage of the
darkness to swell with pride. The pub-
licists, noting the G. A.'s satisfaction, wrote
mental headlines, "Famous Author De-
lighted With Film Version of Novel."

Eventually "The End" came, and the
lights were snapped on in the projection
room.

The Great Author turned with eager eyes
to the film producer.

"How much do you want for the fiction
rights of this picture?" he asked hoarsely.

"But it's your story already," protested
the movie man.

"No, it isn't," said the G. A. "Nobody
would recognize it. But that picture, as I
just saw it, would make a great novel.
And I want to write it ! What do you say? "

THIS wonderful new method makes it possible for any-
one to learn Illustrating, Cartooning, or Commercial
Art. Hundreds of our students are now making splendid
incomes. And most of them never touched a drawing pencil
before they studied with us.

The simplicity of this method will
astound you. You will be amazed at
your own rapid progress. You learn
by mail — yet you receive personal
instruction from one of America's fore-
most Commercial Artists — Will H.
Chandlee. Get into this fascinating
game NOW. You can easily qualify.
A few minutes' study each day is all
that is needed.

Crying Demand for Trained Artists

Newspapers, advertising agencies,
magazines, business concerns — all are
looking for men and women to handle
their art work. There are hundreds of
vacancies right this minute! A trained
commercial artist can command almost
any salary he wants. Cartoonists and
designers are at a premium. Dozens of
our students started work at a high
salary. Many earn more than the cost
of the course while they are learning!
YOU — with a little spare time study in
your own home — can easily and quickly
get one of these big-paying artists' jobs.

No Talent Needed

This amazing method has exploded
the old idea that talent is an absolute
necessity in art. Just as you have
learned to write, this new method teaches
you to draw. We start you with straight
lines, then curves. Then you learn how

to put them together. Now you begin
making pictures. Shading, action, per-
spective, and all the rest follow in their
right order, until you are making pictures
that bring you from $50 to $500 or more!
Many artists get as high as $1,000 for a
single drawing!

Write for Interesting Free Book

Mail coupon now for this interesting
free book, "How to Become an Artist."
Explains about this amazing method in
detail. Tells of our students and their
wonderful progress — and how we can
qualify you for a high-salaried artist's
position. Also tells of our Free Artist's
Outfit to new students and special low
offer to a limited number of new
students.

MAIL COUPON NOW!

Washington School of Art

Room 1669 Marden Bldg., Washington, D. C.

FREE COUPON

WASHINGTON SCHOOL OF ART, Inc.
Room 1669, Marden Bldg.Washington.D.C

Please send me, without cost or obligation
on my part, your free book, "How to Become
an Artist."

Xante

State whether Mr.. Mrs., or Mi:

Address .

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Studio 22 4737 Broadway Chicago, til.

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

h'HOTOPLAY MAGAZINE — ADVERTISING SECTION

Have the Voice
YouWant

Your voice can be

rich, full and vibrant.
Its overtones can be greatly
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"We re really delighted to have you with us, said the little man.

For the Purposes of Discussion

A chronicle of a meeting held by some gentle,
men who would do a little uplifting.

By MARION CLARK

AS I advanced into the narrow, austere
room the tall, thin man looked up.
So did the stout man, in the tight
collar, and the middle-sized man. But it
was the small, bug-like man who leaped
from his place, at the head of the long table,
and advanced to meet me. As he came for-
ward— with a smile of welcome, that was
almost too glad, upon his mouth — I was
reminded, suddenly, of a certain nursery
rhyme. It came back to me, with a note
that was almost a note of warning, from the
past — came back so vividly that when the
small, bug-like man opened his lips to speak
I almost expected to hear him say:

"Won't you walk into my parlor?" And,
as his out-stretched hand groped for mine,
I almost found myself supplying the rest of
the sentence — "said the Spider to the Fly!"
Instead of which —

"We're really delighted to have you with
us," said the little man with a suave polite-
ness that was oily instead of convincing.

From their places around the narrow
table, I felt the eyes of the thin man and the
stout man upon my face. But the middle-
sized man's unswerving glance had fastened
itself upon my blushing ankles. I have
always figured, with the French, that short
skirts are healthier than long ones — a mat-
ter of dust, you know, and microbes . . .
I was about to explain this to the middle-
sized man when he spoke.

"I think," he said and his voice was as
sharp and cold as an icicle, "I think that the
young lady has made a mistake. This meet-
ing is being held for the purpose of discuss-
ing the blue laws, not — " he paused, sig-
nificantly.

"But," for the first time, I spoke. "But
I was sent, by my paper, to cover this meet-
ing. There's no mistake, I'm sure."

The power of the press is very great !

The middle-sized man rose from his seat
and his eyes traveled rapidly upward until
they met mine — almost.

"Oh!" said the middle-sized man. And
then he added, "I hope, in your article — •
you are planning to write an article? — that

you will spell my name correctly. So many
reporters have only used one 'S.' "

The small bug-like man was fluttering
ahead of me, to the table. He pulled out a
chair, held it for me. As I sank, rather
gratefully, into it the stout man spoke. His
tone was worried.

"We expected a much larger meeting," he
told me, plaintively. "I don't know what
could have happened to the others! Per-
haps— "

"Perhaps — " supplied the thin man,
"they're not coming!" I decided, at that
moment, that the thin man was the most
human one in the crowd.

"Then," the middle-sized man seemed to
be the master of ceremonies, "then I think
that the meeting had best begin. Will
Brother — " he glanced inquiringly about
the table, smiled a chill, superior smile, and
then — "/ will lead in prayer," he said
blandly.

He prayed, inarticulately, and for quite a
long time — about minor matters, mostly —
about petty personal things. It seemed to
me, as he prayed, that he was laying an
unnecessary amount of detail at the Gate of
Heaven. But he went on blandly, passing
many a good stopping place. When he
paused, at last, the stout man was openly
mopping his brow. And it seemed to me
that there was an unnecessary amount of
fervor in the thin man's "Amen!"

I HAVE been the odd one at many a
strange meeting. I have attended seances,
and protests, and uprisings. I have inter-
viewed actresses who quoted from the Bible
and evangelists who chewed cloves during
the whole of the session. And so I settled
down, comfortably, to listen, as the small,
bug-like man took his place at the head of
the table and called the meeting to order.

"We are here," he said pompously — the
smaller a man the more pompous he usually
is! — "We are here to arrange, for the
masses, a saner outlook upon life. We are
here to lead the masses to God, and to the
right sort of Sabhath-keeping!"

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For the Purposes
of Discussion

{Continued)

I have always hated the "masses." It
has a snobbish sound that irritates me.
But there was something humorous, rather
than irritating, in the way that the small
man used it. As I looked from him to his
three associates I could not help thinking
how impotant they were — how futile —
when dealing with a great majority. And
yet — even as I laughed to myself — the
though struck me that many a law had been
formulated and passed by the efforts of just
such an impotant appearing handful of
men. It's the organized few, usually, that
come out on top!

"Do you think," I asked suddenly, "that
God can be legislated into the hearts of
people? Do you?"

The middle-sized man looked at me. His
look trickled coldly over my face, like ice
water —

"I think that the question is not in
order!" he said.

Quite without paying heed to the inter-
ruption the small man went on —

"Of course," he said, "we shall in time do
away with amusement parks, and motion
pictures. We shall, in time, eliminate
trolley cars and subways. We shall close
public grounds and beaches. In time we
shall do all this — but for the present — "

The stout man was sitting forward, finger
tips together.

"For the present," he said, "we will only
do those things — "

I interrupted for a second time.

"How do you know," I questioned hotly,
"that you can do those things — any things?"

The thin man spoke. And again I had
the feeling that he was almost a regular
person.

"My dear young lady," he said soberly,
"you'd be surprised to know how many of
these plans are actually laws — some states
have already passed them. They need only
to be enforced!" Did I imagine that he
sighed?

The small man was going on, calmly.

"There will be churches open all day. We
will have many extra services," he said,
"the masses shall be well taken care of!
When there are no services to attend they
can sit at home, in prayerful meditation — "

"Amen!" breathed the stout man.

"And wait for Monday!" I said almost to
myself, finishing the sentence.

"To stay at home will be a real treat to
some of the people," he went on, "the
masses should cultivate a home atmosphere
— an atmosphere of sanctity. In the serene
quiet of that atmosphere they can find their
souls — "

"I've heard," I said slowly, "that the law
can regulate the height of a woman's slipper
heel. And that it can make a sculptor stop
working upon a statue. And that it can
forbid Sunday-pleasures. But can the law
make the people find their souls? Will
staying at home — help ? "

The small man stared at me virtuously.
But it was the stout man who answered.

"I," he told me, "have always enjoyed
staying at home!"

I smiled, with a child-like innocence, into
his round flabby face.

"You have a nice home?" I questioned.

The stout man, in some former incarna-
tion, must have been a real estate agent.

"Fourteen rooms," he chanted in short
line vers libre,

"And three baths!
Modern light and
Heating.

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For the Purposes
of Discussion

{Concluded)

1DID not make any comment. But I
could not help thinking of one Sarah
Klein who "lives in Essex Street," with her
five children in a two room flat. Sarah
works in a sweatshop, making button holes,
for six days a week. And on the seventh
day she goes, with the five children, to the
beach, or to the movies, or to some park.
Sometimes I think that Sarah would never
know God if she did not have her carefree
Sundays. Sometimes I think that she
touches hands with the Infinite at crowded
Coney Island or in a darkened Avenue A
picture theatre. I wonder if staying at home
in the two rooms will make Sarah Klein —
and the many other Sarahs — find their
souls? I wondered, and as I wondered I
felt, suddenly, that the air of the narrow,
austere room was stifling. All at once I was
longing for the crowded streets, the noise of
the traffic, the yellow sunshine of God's
making. I rose quietly from my seat at the
table — hurried on tiptoe, toward the door.
The four, deep in conversation, did not hear
me. Only the thin man raised his head;
Did I imagine that his left eyelid was droop-
ing, slightly?

As I closed the door, carefully, behind
me, I heard the middle sized man speak.

"Too bad," he was saying regretfully,
"that stocks are obsolete . . . Stocks would
solve so many problems ..."

When the Tailor
Won the Suit

A LEADING Los Angeles tailor was
recently sued for refusing to put
his name and label in a suit of
clothes which he had made accord-
ing to the blue-prints and specifications of
a Beau Brummel of the screen. His re-
fusal was based on the contention that to be
identified as the collaborator in so bizarre
and startling a sartorial creation would
irreparably injure his aesthetic reputation
by inspiring suspicion and distrust in the
minds of his clientele. His only defense in
court was to exhibit the masterpiece in
question. But it was sufficient. The jury
took one look at the suit of clothes, and
brought in a unanimous verdict in the
tailor's favor. There are, alas! some actors
who strive to stagger and benumb their
fellowmen by the weird originality of their
dress; and so long as they keep within the
law, we, for one, shall not protest. But
they certainly should not expect a hard-
working and respectable tailor — a man of
family, perhaps, and a deacon in the
church — to shoulder the responsibility.

"Tad" Drops Us a Line

TAD" of the cartoons, T. A. Dorgan
without a make-up, is a moving pic-
ture devotee and he is strong in his
likes and dislikes. He writes to the Editor:

"Just grabbed your magazine and
notice a contest that you're running.
You gave a lot of ham pictures a tumble
but failed on a star.

"In my opinion Will Rogers in OLD
HUTCH was a masterpiece. Outside
of Chaplin it is the only one I ever
snickered at and I've seen many an
alleged comic.

"The director of that picture de-
serves a medal. Most of the others de-
serve LIFE."

Righto on the last sentence.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

119

The dance-hall is an unequalled trellis up which to train the red vine of

screen melodrama. But why not picture it as it often was: a hut of light

and laughter, memory of music?

NORTHERN LIGHTS

IT'S a photoplay of Alaska — there's a
dance-hall, of course — equally of course
the heroine "works" in it — and it's cer-
tain that she's a pearl among pigs, an
icicle in hell, the only "good" girl in the
place — the cigar-chewing proprietor is prob-
ably after her, or after her claim, or after her
father — they throw the hero out until he
demonstrates with his fists his right to stay
- — the "big action" centers here — he takes
her away — and usually they burn the terri-
ble place down in the last five hundred feet.

All mighty pictorial, and an unequalled
trellis up which to train the red vine of melo-
drama. But how many scenario-writers or
directors have used the dance-hall except as
a narrative convenience, or have tried seri-
ously to understand its business in that wild
desolation, to show its kindnesses as well as
its cruelties.

The dance-hali as a dive grew out of the
dance-hall as a desperate necessity. The

gold-hunting hordes were not hermit sav-
ages, but lonely beings from civilization.
Had there been no relaxations, no places of
warmth and light and commingling, no huts
of memory and music, the northland would
soon have been peopled by dead men and
lunatics. The first dance-halls on every
frontier were places of crude comfort and an
attempt at laughter — God knows there was
little enough of that beyond their rough
doors! Good men shambled over their bare
floors, great men raised untrained voices in
their elemental chanties, honest women
sang to outlanders with dimmed eyes the
simple songs of home. And under the same
roofs, perhaps, Babylon has been shamed,
and the Bacchic festivals made to resemble
a post- Volstead tea-party!

So much like human life, these Northern
Lights under a cold, dark sky!

One might add their goodness to their
badness in the greatest epic of the wild!

Opposing Censorship

DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS, Rupert
Hughes, Samuel Merwin, Edward
Knoblock, Rita Weiman and Mon-
tague Glass appear in a motion picture en-
titled "The Non-sense of Censorship," con-
sidered one of the most effective arguments
against legalized supervision of motion pic-
tures that has yet been used in the anti-
censorship campaign of the National Asso-
ciation of the Motion Picture Industry.

This picture, a short-reel, is being shown
in theaters in states where censorship is be-
ing agitated by the professional reformers.
The first fade-in discloses Rupert Hughes
sitting at his desk reading a booklet en-
titled, "Rules of the Censor." There is a
pained expression on the author's face as he
puts down the book of rules and writes: —
"The moving picture is about fifteen
years old. Sin is somewhat older than
that, yet the censors would have us be-
lieve that it was not Satan, but Thomas
A. Edison who invented the fall of
man."
Samuel Merwin, writes a moment, then

there is shown his contribution to the cen-
sorship controversy. It reads: —

"This censorship, if applied to liter-
ature, would destroy Shakespeare,
Dickens, the Bible itself. It is stupid,
ignorant, vulgar. It puts an intoler-
able limitation on workers in the new
art of the screen. Carried only a little
further, it will abolish free speech in
America. I will fight it as long as I
live."

Thomas Buchanan is shown at his desk
writing this letter to Penrhyn Stanlaws:
"The censor will not permit an un-
married woman to bear a child. There-
fore in filming "The Scarlet Letter,"
please play Hester Primm as a pure
woman and have little Pearl born by
Arthur Dimmesdale. This should be a
decided novelty and also would serve
him right anyhow.

There is more satire; including Doug, who
is floored by a tough guy without hitting
back.

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A Better Job?

THE only difference between success and failure
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120

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Thousands

Censored

By BLAINE C. B1GLER

H, gee, but I'm unlucky, for I heard the writer's call
And I wrote a play of Eden when the leaves began
to fall;

But the darned old censor canned it, said it wouldn't
do at all,
For things were bare in Eden when the leaves began to
fall.

Then I wrote a tale of train life, and I tried to make it plain;

I strove to show its humor, its pathos and its pain;
But the censor wouldn't pass it, so I told him to explain,

"Well," he said, "you should be careful, there's a red
light on your train."

So I wrote a circus story that had quite a gala air,

But I couldn't find a market though I tried 'most every-
where;
For the censor's eye was on it, and he said, "My son,
beware,
You'll corrupt the people's morals, you've a bare-back
rider there! "

I wrote a book called "August Days" — of ripening fields
of corn,
Bright with hill and vale and woodland and of meadows
newly shorn;
But my hopes were dashed to pieces, now I'm lonely and
forlorn,
The censor said, "Suppress it, it's too near September
Morn!"

Questions and Answers

(Continued from page 109)

Dot E. G., St. Louis. — The Answer Man
is a little older than he was when you last
wrote, but he is still susceptible. Your
good wishes and commendation mean a lot
to me. Now the thing is to deserve them.
Beatrice Dominguez died in February, 1921,
in Los Angeles. Hobby Agnew is about
eighteen. He played with Norma Talmadge
in "The Passion Flower" and "The Sign
on the Door". James Kirkwood, Lasky.
Earle Fox opposite Norma in "Panthea".

Y. L., Panama. — More about Kirkwood
He entered the studios in 1909 as a director
for Biograph, and has been directing or act-
ing ever since. His most recent release is
"The Great Impersonation". Yes — I like
him personally and also consider him one of
the best actors on the screen.

Win, Winnepeg. — You win the marble
bicycle. You say, other than the question
about James Kirkwood — which, by the way,
is answered above — you have nothing else
to ask me except one little thing which,
though not directly in my line, I might be
able to answer. "Last season", you say,
"a gentleman played in our local stock
company but is not coming back next season
and I believe he will be playing in an eastern
city. Could you advise me where I might
locate him"? He must have made a very
deep impression on you indeed, — you don 't
remember his name, by any chance, do you?

Merely Margie. — There are no ladies
six feet tall in pictures. Katherine Mac-
Donald, five feet eight inches tall, and Betty
Blythe, five feet eight and a half inches —
come nearest to it. Now I suppose you '11
go right out and station your six feet no
inches outside the nearest film studio.

V. J., Toronto. — Madame Alia Nazi-
mova has completed her Metro contract.
Write to her here and it will be forwarded
She is still married to Charles Bryant, her
leading man in many of her pictures. Mar-
guerite Courtot, Pathe; Norma Talmadge,
Talmadge studio; Anita Stewart, Mayer
studio.

Helen Hammond. — Are you any relation
to Harriett? If so, I 'd like to meet you. I
think I would, anyway. If you are only
fifteen I am five. Write to Tom Meighan.
I have so many favorites it would take up
the whole book to list them. I am not
small and wiry, neither am I fat and ponder-
ous. I am just right. "Harriet and the
Piper" with Anita Stewart, has been re-
leased. Anita is married to Rudolph Cam-
eron. Priscilla Dean is Mrs. Wheeler Oak-
man. She was born in 1896. "Reputa-
tion" and "Conflict" are her two latest
pictures. Mahlon Hamilton is married.

Mildred, Maywood. — Our United
States Patent Office has issued more than
a million patents and there is a total of only
three million for the entire world. Looks
like we're an inventive nation. Kenneth
Harlan in "Dangerous Business" and
"Mama's Affair" with Constance Tal-
madge. Harlan is not married. He was
divorced from Salome Jane Harlan some
time ago.

Just Eighteen. — You like Miss Cotton
and think she should be starred. She has
been on the screen since 1918, but was on
the stage before that. Miss Cotton is still
Miss Cotton.

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Questions and Answers

(Continued)

A Girl's Ci.ru. — If your letter was not
answered, it was because you did not give
your name and address, broke one or all of
the rules at the head of my department or
asked questions which had been answered
before. Olive and Alma Tell are sisters;
that is their real name; they don't give their
respective ages, but they are not twins. The
Tells were born here and educated abroad.
Betty Rlythe has no children. Neither has
Enid Bennett — although I have heard that
the stork is on its way to the Bennett-Niblo
household. ^^^_

Father of Six. — You say you deserve a
lot of credit for your family. I would say
that you can't very well get along without
it. Colleen Moore a great emotional ac-
tress? I wouldn't go so far as to say that.
Miss Moore is a clever little girl, and pretty,
too, but she is not exactly a Bernhardt.
Elliott Dexter, Lasky, Hollywood.

Mildred. — Thanks for the picture of you
in your new hat, which you think is so be-
coming to you. Yes, I think it is more be-
coming to you than you are to it. Mabel
Xormand's new picture is "Molly O," for
Mack Sennett. Mabel is not married.

L. M., Jersey City. — You want me to
tell jokes to you as I do to all the others. I
didn't know I did. However, here's a joke
which is not new or original, but which I
think is charming. A little girl was at Sun-
day School where the teacher was explain-
ing the lesson. "This is Peter," she said,
pointing to a picture. "Oh," said the little
girl in a surprised voice, "I thought Peter
was a rabbit!" That is what I call a real
joke. Ethel Grandin is twenty-five; Charles
Chaplin thirty-one.

Helen. — Tom Gallery is Mr. Zasu Pitts.
He is in Vitagraph 's picturization of George
Randolph Chester's "The Son of Walling-
ford." Tom was born in 1896, which seems
to be a popular year for movie folks to be
born in, has brown hair and grey eyes.

Ethel M. J. — What a nice cheerful
creature you are. I suppose you find com-
fort in that little line, "The paths of glory-
lead but to the grave." Florence LaBadie
was the star of "The Million-Dollar Mys-
tery." She was killed in a motor accident
in 1917. Miss LaBadie was one of the most
popular stars.

A. I.., Pa. — According to some people not
so well-informed as they might be, Vincent
Blasco Ibanez has written two horse stories
"The Four Horsemen" and "Mare Nos-
trum." Pearl Whiteistheonly moving picture
actresswhom the Spanish writer knows per-
sonally and whom he is going to write into
a new book, according to report. Edith
Johnson has light brown hair and eyes; she
is twentv-five.

Edwin C. M., Chicago. — Thanks,
thanks, said he salaaming. Mighty nice
of you to say those things, and I really ap-
preciate it all. Lillian and Dorothy Gish
will be featured, not starred, with Joseph
Schilkraut in "The Two Orphans." D. W,
Griffith is always the advertised "star'- of
his own productions. Dorothy is Mrs.
James Rennie. Lillian is not married.

Curious. — Your originality is positively-
startling. The late Cyrus Townsend Brady-
wrote "The Island of Regeneration," in
which Edith Storey and Antonio Moreno
starred in the old Vitagraph days. Miss
Storey made two pictures for Robertson-
Cole and then left the screen again. Wish
she'd come back; I've always liked her.

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Prize Contest

The famous Lester Park-Efl ward Whiteside photo-
play, "Empty Arms." is creating a sensation. It
has inspired the Bong, "Empty Arms," which
contains only one verse and a chorus. A good
second verse is wanted, and to the writer of the
best one submitted a prize of 8500.00 cash will be
paid. Thi.s contest is open to everybody. You
simply write the words for a second verse— it is
not necessary that you see the photoplay before
doing so. Send us your name and address and we
shall send you a copy of the words of the first
verse and chorus, the rules of the contest and a
short synopsis of this wonderful photoplay. It
will cost you nothing to enter the contest

Write postal or letter today to

"EMPTY ARMS" CONTESTED/TOR

LESTER PARK-EDWARD WHITESIDE

PHOTOPLAY PRODUCTIONS

214 W. 34th St.. Suite 15t New York, N. Y.

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Dept. P

1224 W. Girard Ave.. Phila., Peima.

Questions and Answers

(Continued)
Margaret M. M. — The Bible is printed
in 650 different languages and dialects.
There are twelve editions of it for the blind
alone. Yes, Eileen Sedgwick has completely
recovered from an operation for appen-
dicitis. She was born in 1896. Estelle
Taylor is twenty-one years old. I can't
convey to Estelle your good wishes at
present, as she is at this writing motoring
through New England on her vacation.
Later, I will.

Ricardo G., Manila. — Your letter was
not too long. But your name was, so I've
abbreviated it considerably. Don't mind,
do you? Doris May married Wallace
MacDonald on May 5, 1921. A serial
called "The Whirlwind" was made by the
Allgood Pictures Corp. of 1472 Broadway,
N. Y. C. That company must have con-
fidence in itself. You might address Edith
Thornton there. I have no recent informa-
tion regarding her.

Mary Pickford Never
Went to College

YET she is the Queen of the Mov-
ies, America's Sweetheart; she
has perhaps accomplished more,
been a finer influence for good, than
any other woman of modern times.
If Mary Pickford had gone to college,
would she have been a better actress,
a more popular personality, a more
gracious human being? What do
you think? You'll find the question
answered in the November issue of
Photoplay.

Ray W., St. Louis. — Surely — come right
in, there's plenty of room. For improve-
ment, did I hear you ask? Seena Owen is
playing the leading role in Cosmopolitan's
new production of Arthur Somers Roche's
story, "Find the Woman." Betty Comp-
son, Lasky. Eugene O'Brien, Selznick.

Katherine B., Redwood City, Cal. —
Confucius died at the age of seventy-two.
He believed that man should "slight
nothing, forget nothing, leave nothing to
chance, nor should he say, 'this is good
enough.'" Another saying was: "What
the superior man seeks is in himself; what
the small man seeks is in others." Dorothy
Phillips and Sonia Markova are widely
different persons. Miss Markova's real
name is Gretchen Hartman — in fact, she
doesn't exist any more, now that Miss
Hartman uses her own title. In private
life she's Mrs. Alan Hale, and the mother of
a baby boy.

R. S., Oklahoma. — Eva Novak was a
star for Universal, but only had a six
months' contract with that company and
did not renew. She is now playing leads
at Fox. It 's Jane, not Eva, to whom Bill
Hart is engaged. "The Last Trail" was
Eva's final U picture. Jane was formerly
Mrs. Frank Newburgh, but is now divorced.
She has a small daughter.

Sylvia. — I am one of the commending
swains. I haven 't one of those long-suffering
dispositions you speak of, I do tell the truth,
and I deny that all my correspondents are
foolish. Not all of them. Eugene O 'Brien
does deserve better stories than Selznick
gives him — I agree with you. He used to
be great opposite Norma Talmadge.

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Questions and Answers

(Continued)

Loraine. — What is Wally Reid 's speak-
ing voice? Why, it's a — a voice. You
know — just like any other voice. That is,
it sounds so to me. But then, perhaps I
am not properly appreciative. You should
meet Mr. Reid and find out. How can you
meet him? Don 't ask me.

T. E. P., Cincinnati. — You want to see
me. Well, if you did see me you wouldn't
know me from Adam. Except, maybe,
that I will be wearing more. I can 't tell
you the names of all the photoplays in
which Dick Barthelmess has appeared — not
that I don 't know them, but because we
would have to get out a special edition for
your answer, and that isn't being done
right now. However, his first work was
with Nazimova in "War Brides," and his
later releases were with Marguerite Clark.
At present he has his own company, mak-
ing "Tol'ableDavid." Married to Mary
Hay, the little dancer.

Peg H., Pittsburgh. — So you think lam
very wise and very patient to answer all
those letters. I am very wise to answer all
those letters, if that's what you mean. I
would find myself sitting on the cold hard
pavement if I didn't. But I really liked
your letter, and appreciate your kind
thoughts of me and my wife. As I haven't
any wife, I have taken all the kind thoughts
home with me, where they are piled up in
three corners of my hall-bedroom. Write
again.

M. C. F. — Most of us like to talk and
write about ourselves, but few of us will
admit it. I am one of the few exceptions.
The others are the twenty thousand who
write in to me. "The Kid" marked Jackie
Coogan 's initial screen appearance. This
picture was made in 1920. Norma and
Constance Talmadge, Talmadge studios.
Conrad Nagel, Lasky, Hollywood. All
three are married.

Pauline. — You address me "Dear sir or
whoever reads this letter." I regret to say
that I read it; if I hadn 't, it might not have
answered. Ralph Kellard, not Robert. I
believe he isn't married. He was born in
1887, and his address is Post Road, Rye,
N. Y.

Clarice. — You say you just love Hope
Hampton. I don't mind telling you that
I don't blame you. Hope made a personal
appearance in your city. Robert Gordon is
married to Alma Francis. Gordon is now
playing the leading role in "The Rosary,"
for Selig-Rork. Douglas McLean 's wife
is a non-professional. Wallace Reid was
Eric Trent, the young English Captain, in
"Joan the Woman."

L. M. V., Kansas. — I didn 't take a vaca-
tion, because I don 't believe in theft. You
ask me which I prefer, the mountains or the
seashore. I think I should prefer the sea-
shore, but I have never had a chance to find
out. Address Yivian Martin at the Shu-
bert Theater, New York City, where she is
playing in "Just Married." Vivian's latest
picture is "Pardon my French." She is
married and has a little daughter. Mary
Miles Minter's engagement has been denied
by Mary's grandmother, who ought to
know.

Lazy Luke. — I wouldn't say you were
lazy, looking at your letter. A lazy man
couldn 't think of so many questions. Gla-
dys Leslie appeared recently in "Jim the
Penman." "Straight Is the Way," and
"God's Country and the Law," in which
she is starred. She is married.

A Future Correspondent. — I don 't
quite see how you can be a future corres-
pondent when you're among those present,
but I suppose it 's all right. Florence Law-
rence was born in 1896, has golden hair and
blue eyes, was married in May, 1912, to
Charles Woodring, and was the first movie
queen. Her first picture since her return
to film activity is "The Unfoldmcnt," not
yet released. May McAvoy is probably the
" newest " star, as she was elevated to stellar
position in 1921.

Rose. — The favorite roll of most actors
is the one he gets on pay-day. Dorothy
Davenport, Wallace Reid 's wife, was born
in 1895. Hope Hampton is twenty-two.
Eva Novak is twenty; Jane twenty-five.
Harold Lloyd was born in 1892.

Elsie, Fort Wayne. — There is a story
about Buck Jones in this issue of photo-
play' We are always only too glad to
have stories about the stars you want. Mr.
Jones is married. Thanks for all your
bouquets.

B. B., Mass. — It was really too bad of
you to send me a picture of your garden
without herself in it, although you say you
are standing between the sun-dial and the
fountain. I can't even see the sun-dial.
"Smiling Billy" Parsons died of heart
trouble. Bill Hart isn 't dead; he has mere-
ly retired. And at that they say it's only
a Bernhardt, as he plans to come back in
February. Not that we won 't all be glad
to see him back — but why the retirement
stuff?

Alberta J. — John Robertson is in Eng-
land now conferring with Sir James Barrie
about "Peter Pan" and who will play it.
If Mary Pickford can't, I'd vote for May
McAvoy, the Griszel of "Sentimental
Tommy" which Robertson directed. Jack
Pickford will make "A Tailor-Made Man"
for his own company. Elaine Hammer-
stein is her real name; she is the daughter of
Arthur and the grand-daughter of Oscar of
the same house.

F. M. E. K., Jersey City. — You say the
foot that used to rock the cradle is now step-
ing on the accelerator. I suppose there is
some truth in that. Thomas Mee-an,
Lasky, Hollywood. Tom was born in 1884;
Eugene O'Brien is three years older than
Tom. I hope you are good at figures.

H. S. C, Norfolk. — I can't tell you how
much I enjoyed your letter. If my answers
have given you half the pleasure your letter
has given me, I am fully repaid. You want
Winifred Greenwood, the motion picture
actress, to communicate with her sister, at
411 East Freemason Street, Norfolk, Va.
If you do not hear from her, write to her
care Lasky, Hollywood, where she was play-
ing some time ago. I haven't her present
address

Alice E. H. — You ask too many ques-
tions. Enclose stamped addressed envelope
and I '11 answer the others by mail. Douglas
and William Fairbanks are not related.
Mary Miles Minter is nineteen; May Mc-
Avoy twenty; Doug thirty-eight; Viola Dana
twenty-four; Ethel Clayton thirty.

Juan de la Cruz, Manila. — I'm always
pleased to hear from you — in fact, you are
one of my favorite correspondents. You
remember you sent me those beautiful neck-
ties. Your questions happen to be answered
elsewhere this month — all except the pro-
nunciation of Carl Laemmle, Universal 's
president. It is Lemlee, accenting the first
•syllable.

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Q«

uestions and Answers

(Continued)

Fluffy, Melbourne, England. — I don't
mind your writing a bit — either in chirog-
raphy or sentiment. Particularly the sen-
timent. I like to be told I'm liked. Ann
Little, Berwilla studios, Hollywood, Cal.

The Bat. — When you come to New
York, look me up. I am singular, not
plural. I have no assistance in answering
my letters, although I may need it. Madge
Kennedy may return to the screen in the
fall; at present she is vacationing. She is
married to Harold Bolster, a business man.
Martha Mansfield was introduced as a
Selznick star in "The Fourth Sin. " Martha
is appearing in vaudeville in New York this
summer. Louise Huff is in the cast of
"Disraeli," which George Arliss is making
for United Artists release. If you can't
come in, write.

C. W. R., Ottawa. — The reason, my,
friend, that you never received a reply
was that you did not favor me with your
address. I am sorry. Tom Mix, Fox
western. George Walsh appears in "Sere-
nade," under his brother Raoul's direction
and opposite Miriam Cooper, who in private
life is Mrs. R. A. Walsh.

Mary E. Smith, .Newport. — A few
wonders of the modern world are the air-
plane, radium, telephone, wireless, and
motion pictures. Of the medieval world,
the Great Wall of China, the leaning tower
of Pisa, the Catacombs of Alexander, and
the Coliseum of Rome. Of the ancient
world: the Hanging Gardens of Babylon,
the Colossus of Rhodes, the pyramids of
Egypt. The class is now dismissed. I
suppose you know that the motion picture
is able to reproduce many of these wonders
of all times for you and me to see, safe in
the comfort of a photoplay palace? Earle
Rodney, Christie. Nell Shipman Produc-
tions, 17 West 44th Street, New York.

Helen. — Norman Kerry's picture will
go into our next rotogravure section just to
please you (and several hundred other
girls). Kerry plays Blackie Daw in Cos-
mopolitan's production of "Get-Rich-Quick
Wallingford, " under direction of Frank
Borzage. Sam Hardy plays the title role,
with Doris Kenyon and Billie Dove as the
girls. Address Rupert Hughes, Goldwyn
studios, Culver City, Cal. Hughes is
writing the original stories and scenarios of
his pictures for Goldwyn, and he is going
to direct too. Recent Hughes films are
"The Old Nest" — the fiction version of
which appeared in September Photoplay —
and "Dangerous Curve Ahead."

Louis S., New York City. — I can't tell
you how much I liked your letter, for fear
you would accuse me of sarcasm, flattery,
or what have you. But — I enjoyed it and
hope you'll write much and often. Your
question is answered elsewhere.

Philip R. D. — May Allison's home ad-
dress is not known to us, but her age is. This
does not sound probable, but I assure you
it is. She was born in 1895, and may be
addressed at the Metro studios, Hollywood.
It is rumored Miss Allison is leaving Metro,
but I have not heard confirmation as yet.

Beatrice. — You are evidently looking
for a Dante to immortalize you. But Jack
Holt is married, my dear. Address him
Lasky, Hollywood. Ethel Clayton has no
children; she was born in 1890. Miss Clay-
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Questions and Answers

125

(Con

A Fan, Idaho. — You tell me a riddle, and
then answer it in the same letter. Von say
the reason why a girl is like an automobile
is that both have to have the old paint
scraped off before the new paint can be put
on. I didn't know that — about girls, I
mean. No mention is made of a page in
the cast of "A Damsel in Distress," in
which June Caprice and Creighton Hale
appeared.

Mrs. E. P., Nevada. — The cast of
Goldwyn's "The Branding Iron," which, by
the way, was a good, strong picture, follows;
and don't mention it: Joan Carver — Bar-
bara Castleton ; Pierre Landis — James Kirk-
wood; John Carver — Russell Simpson; Pros-
per Gael — Richard Tucker; Jasper Morena —
Sydney Ainsworth: Betty Morena — Ger-
trude Astor; Rev. Holliivcll — Albert Roscoe;
Maude Upper — Joan Standing; Wen Ho —
Louie Cheung.

Persistent Percy. — You say you have a
painting which is quite a new departure.
Well — let me see you do it. I am really
sorry that I cannot accept — and pay for —
landscapes in four colors, but I am not the
Editor, and he doesn't use landscapes any-
way.

tinned)

Olive Mary. — I have disregarded your
request to print only your initials because
if 1 don't disregard a request once in a while
I shall become downtrodden and oppressed,
and I wouldn't like that; I am not a Russian.
Pearl White's real hair is red, so they tell
me, but I have never seen it. Miss White
wears a blonde wig on the screen. Wallace
Reid in "Too Much Speed." Ethel Clayton
in "Wealth."

A Gaston Glass Admirer. — I will be
glad to resemble M. Glass if you'll like me
any better. The question is, how does one
go about it? M. Glass has beautiful black
hair with, if I remember correctly, the
slightest suggestion of a wave in it. I have
very brown and very straight hair. How-
ever, sometimes barbers can- help a fellow
a lot. By the way, the last time I was in a
barber shop who should walk in but two
young ladies— both with bobbed hair!
They had a hair-cut and a shampoo.
Isn't there any place a man can have a
little peace — not to mention a shave?
Apparently not. I understand all the girls
are doing it now. M. Glass and I have one
thing in common — neither of us is married.

H. D. C. — Bessie Love enrolled as a
member of the summer school at the
University of Southern California. Mary
Anderson is Charles Ray's leading woman
in "Two Minutes To Go." Mr. and Mrs.
House Peters have a baby son. Charles
Chaplin's new picture is "The Idle Class."
Cullen Landis is with Metro playing with
Alice Lake in "The Infamous Miss Revell."

H. E. R. — Your grammar isn't so good.
The latest interview in Photoplay with
Tom Meighan was September, l')20. Tom's
a very good friend of mine and I like him
immensely. He always drops in to see me
when he's in town. He is married to
Frances Ring, sister of Blanche; was born
in Pittsburgh in 1887; went on the stage
after leaving college (his parents wanted
him to be a physician but young Tom didn't
see it that way). He first appeared with
Henrietta Crosman in "Mistress Nell."
Later he appeared in stock for two years,
toured with Else de Wolf, William Collier,
David Warfield and others. His first film
work was for Lasky, where he is today as a
star in "The Fighting Hope."

Erminie. — Aren't you fancy! By the
way, I saw the revival of "Erminie" in New
York some months ago and enjoyed it
hugely-. Francis Wilson, Madge Lessing and
De Wolf Hopper were in it, and a good time
was enjoyed by everybody. I don't know
what became of "that cute little Howard
Ralston" who played Jimmy in Mary's
"Pollyanna," but I do know that if he reads
what you call him, he will never come back"

C. P., Philadelphia. — Fannie Ward will
be forty-six on November 23, 1921. She
looks about twenty-six. I don't mind tell
ing you that my birthday is also November
23. I am nor the same age as Miss Ward. No
— I won't tell you the difference. I repeat:
November 23. Have you all got that firmly
fixed in your minds?

Marie, Ohio. — You are most unusual,
or a fortune-teller has told you that you are.
Rudolph Valentino was born in Castellan-
eta, Italy, on May 6, 1895. He is five feet
eleven inches tall, and weighs one hundred
and fifty-four pounds. Valentino has the
title role in Paramount 's "The Sheik." He
was married to Jane Acker; divorced.

Fluffy of Melbourne. — Thanks for
your good wishes. Nice of you not to want
to bother me, but if you don't bother me
occasionally I won't have any job. The
more correspondents the merrier, you
know. Ann Little, Berwilla Studios, Holly-
wood, Cal. Ann is not married.

Lola. — You are faithful to Photoplay,
the Gish sisters and me. I must say you
have good taste. Harrison Ford was
married to Beatrice Prentice, but he is
divorced. Constance Talmadge is twenty-
two. Her latest picture is "Good-for-
Nothing," written by the Emersons, John
and Anita. If you mean Buck Jones when
you say "that handsome cowboy," he is
with Fox, in Hollywood. I agree that
Lillian Gish is a perfect dear, even if she
never sent me her picture with "All my
love" written on it.

Mrs. Ben. — I agree with you. Even if
I didn't, I would say so. You do not seem
to be a lady one can disagree with with
impunity — which means getting away with
it. Bebe Daniels is not married. She has
had a variety of screen leading men: Jack
Holt, Jack Mulhall and Harry Myers, to
mention a few.

Elda. — I've read that the Emperor of
Japan has twenty men to carry his umbrella.
At least thirty men have carried mine.
Mary Anderson in Morsco's "The Half
Breed." Mary is Mrs. Pliny Goodfriend.
Charlotte Walker did "The Trail of the
Lonesome Pine" for the films some years
ago. Ethel Grandin with Gareth Hughes in
Metro's "The Hunch."

R. B. I., Germantown, Pa. — Bless your
heart — I had no intention of not answering
you. If all my letters were as nice as yours,
I would be almost happy. Theodore
Roberts will, I am sure, send you a picture
if you address him care the Lasky Studios,
Hollywood, Cal.

Miss A. T. — Marriage may not be a fail-
ure, but the bride never gets the best man.
You know that as well as I do. Awfully
glad you are going to be married. Con-
gratulations and all that sort of thing.
Gladys Walton is married; address her
Universal City, Cal. Florence Turner,
same company. The Mack Sennett com-
pany is at Edendale, Cal.

(Concluded on page 127)

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Questions and Answers

[Concluded from page 125)

S. L., Stamford. — So you wish vacation
were over. You do? All you have to do,
you say, is eat, drink, and be merry. I
wish that was all I had to do. Bert Lytell
was born in New York City — when, he
doesn't divulge. He's five feet ten tall.
Lucy Cotton and Virginia Valli are his
latest lovely leading ladies. Evelyn Vaughn
is his wife.

Ellis R., Omaha. — You envy me all the
work I do, getting to see and speak to all
the film people? My dear, with all the
work I do, I don't get time to see and speak
to the film people. Katherine MacDonald
has her own studio in Los Angeles. Cecil
deMille's new picture is a filmization of
Leonard Merrick's " Laurels and the Lady, "
retitled "Fool's Paradise." The story ap-
pears in this issue of Photoplay. It features
Dorothy Dalton, Mildred Harris, and Con-
rad Nagel. Julia Faye is in the cast.

Curious, Hartford. — Well, I wish you
weren't so curious. Here, however, is the
cast of "Scarlet Days" — which is so long
I've saved your other questions for next
month. Alvarez, Richard Barthelmess;
Chiquita, Clarine Seymour; Rosy Nell,
Eugenie Besserer; Her Daughter, Carol
Dempster; John Randolph, Ralph Graves;
King Bagley, Walter Long.

- Florenxe J., St. Louis. — You wonder
why.your three letters were never answered?
Because you declined to give your real name
and address. Don't malign me because I
follow my own rules. I don't ask much of
you; merely your identification as an evi-
dence of good faith; but evidently that was
too much for you. Your latest epistle gave
all the details which I do not ask: the color
of your hair and eyes. Nevertheless:
James Kirkwood, Ann Forest and Alice
Hollister had the leading roles in "A Wise
Fool," a Paramount production directed
by George Melford, released in June, 1921.
Studio addresses are found in the Studio
Directory, published monthly in this
Magazine.

L. L. C, Pennsylvania. — Arthur Johns-
ton, who co-starred with Lottie Briscoe in
the old Lubin days, has been dead some
years. He was a fine actor. Miss Briscoe
is not acting any more. They made a great
team didn't they?

M. Max L.— Rolf Armstrong paints all
of Photoplay's covers. He is noted for
his fine color work. He has a studio in
downtown Manhattan. Carlyle Blackwell
is in vaudeville now. He is divorced from
Mrs. Blackwell, who is a sister of Gretchen
Hartman — Mrs. Alan Hale. By the way,
the Hale's have a baby son.

Billy, Texas. — I cannot read Chinese
writing but I can read yours which is almost
as interesting. Gladys Walton was born
in Boston in 1904, was educated in Port-
land, Oregon, and played in Universal
comedies with Lee Moran and Eddie Lyons,
the now extinct comedy team, before that
company starred her. She is married to
Frank Riddell.

Yiyia Genevieve. — You sound as if
you'd just stepped out of a novel by George
Joseph McChambers. Joyce Moore is not
related to Alice Joyce. Miss Joyce, who is
in real life Mrs. James Regan, Jr., has re-
tired for a while to await an event of unusual
importance in the Regan, Jr. household.
Mary MacLaren married? Nothing so
alliterative. She's not married or engaged.
Mary is very young — about twenty, I
think. Frank Mayo in "The Magnificent
Brute" and "The Fighting Lover." What
virile titles!

Jacqueline, Wilkes- Barre. — Actresses
by the name of Jacqueline? Well, there's
Jacqueline Logan, the former Follies beauty
who has played leads for Allan Dwan and
Lasky; and then there is Jacqueline Saun-
ders, who needs no introduction under her
well-known nickname of Jackie.

Isabella. — Julian Eltinge made a num-
ber of pictures for Paramount. He is
scheduled to appear soon in a screen version
of "The Fascinating Widow," but I don't
know when it will be released. He's been
in vaudeville during the past year. Eltinge
is not married.

William F., New York. — Thelma Salter
is not in films at present. I suspect she is
at the awkward age right now, but she will
doubtless return to the screen when she is
a full-fledged young lady. Frank Keenan
has been devoting his time to stage produc-
tions. He presented "John Ferguson" on
the west coast and is now preparing a
revival of " Rip Van Winkle. " I doubt if
a studio would grant your request for a
strip of films. Photographs used in lobby
displays are stills, not reproductions from
film.

C. B., Texas. — Charles Ray is, I believe,
an only child. However, if he happens to
have a brother or sister somewhere, you
won't like him any the less, will you?

Marian M., Hollywood. — If Eugene
O'Brien has not married since I wrote an
answer about him an hour ago, then Eugene
O'Brien isn't married.

Marjory. — I suppose Percy Marmont
has an age, but he doesn't give it. Mr.
Marmont is married and has several chil-
dren. Monte Blue is, too — married, I mean.
Blue was born in 1890. Casson Ferguson
opposite Betty Compson in her first stellar
production for Paramount: "At the End
of the World. " Betty has the world at her
feet, if that has anything to do with it.

H. K. — George Webb was the deep,
triple-dyed villain in "Black Beauty."
In spite of his hounding her in that picture,
Jean Paige is coming back in a new Vita-
graph. David Powell was born in 1884.
He doesn't divulge his wife's name except
to say that it is Mrs. David Powell.

Misty. — You certainly are. John Barry-
more has brown eyes, so you win the bet.
What was it — that picture of him in the
August issue of Photoplay? It's worth
framing, I must admit. Mrs. Barrymore
was Mrs. Leonard Thomas before her mar-
riage to John, and before that, Miss Blanche
Oelrichs. The John Barrymores have a
baby daughter, born March 3, 1921.

R. D., Cairo. — Priscilla Dean in Cairo,
Illinois? Not that I know of. Priscilla
hasn't even been to the Egyptian Cairo.
She is Mrs. Wheeler Oakman. Mary Miles
Minter is vacationing — not working — in
Europe. She was accompanied abroad by
her mother and her sister, Marguerite
Shelby. Mary isn't married. Bebe Dan-
iels in "Two Weeks with Pay" and "One
Wild Week."

Gladys, Waxahachie, Tex. — You don't
know how to pronounce Carl Laemmle?
Well, I'm not sure I do either. Suppose
you try it: Lem-lee, with accent on the
lem. Dick Barthelmess accents the first
syllable of his last name. Betty Compson
has no brothers or sisters that I know of,
but then I might not know of them. You
might write and ask her, care Lasky studio
in Hollywood.

What Do You
Owe Your Wife?

Do you remember the promises

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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

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The World's Leading Motion Picture Publication

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE

JAMES R. QUIRK, Editor

Vol. XX

No. 5

Contents

November, 192 1

Cover Design

From a Pastel Portrait by Rolf Armstrong.

Rotogravure:

Mae Murray Dorothy Gish

Mary Carr Anita Stewart

Jane and Catherine Lee Vivian Martin

Marie Prevost

Marion Davies

Editorial
Wallace Reid

19
20

Delight Evans 22

Delight Evans 25

The "Don't" Men

Getting Back at Friend Husband Mrs.

What a Movie Idol's Wife Thinks About.

The Future Great Actor

Joseph Schildkraut, a New Griffith Protege.

Romance from Moth-Balis

D. W. Griffith Revives "The Two Orphans.'

West Is East

A-Strolling Down Broadway.

The End of the Road (Fiction) Octavus Roy Cohen 26

One of the Greatest Stories of the Year. Illustrated by T. i>. Skidmore.

Pro Bonum Bobbed Hair (Photograph) 29

Anita Loos Has Gone and Done It!

The Memoirs of M. . 30

Douglas Fairbanks' Valet Tells Some Inside Stuff.

It's a Mad World! 32

If the Habits of Mankind Were Gauged by Some Films.

(Contents continued on next page)

Editorial Offices, 25 W. 45th St., New York City

Published monthly by the Photoplay Publishing Co., 350 N. Clark St., Chicago, 111.

Edwin M. Colvin, Pres. James R. Quirk, Vice-Pres. R. M. Eastman, Sec.-Treas.

Yearly Subscription: $2.50 in the United States, its dependencies, Mexico and Cuba;
$3.00 Canada; $3.50 to foreign countries. Remittances should be made by check, or postal
or express money order. Caution — Do not subscribe through persons unknown to you.
Entered as second-class matter April 24, 1912, at the Postoffice at Chicago, 111., under the Act ot March 3, 1879.

Copyrizht. 1921, by the PHOTOPLAY PUBLISHING COMPANY.

Photoplays Reviewed

in the Shadow Stage

This Issue

Save this magazine — refer to
the criticisms before you pick out
your evening's entertainment.
Make this your reference list.

Page 60

The Three Musketeers

United Artists

At the End of the World . . Paramount

After the Show Paramount

Page 61

The Great Impersonation

Paramount

Disraeli United Artists

Wedding Bells First National

Page 62 -

Cappy Ricks Paramount

Mother o' Mine. . .Associated Prod.
Pilgrims of the Night

Associated Prod.

Serenade First National

The Shark Master Universal

Thunderclap Fox

Page 63

Where Lights Are Low

Robertson-Cole

The Cup of Life . . Ince-Asso. Prod.

A Midnight Bell First National

The Match-Breaker Metro

The Hell-Diggers Paramount

Play Square Fox

Page 111

Perj ury Fox

Big Game Metro

Name the Day Rolin-Pathe

A Trip to Paradise Metro

Page 113

Shame Fox

Quo Yadis Kleine-YVarrcn

The Blot Weber-Warren

There Are No Villains Metro

Opened Shutters Universal

Contents — Continued

How I Keep in Condition
Third in an Interesting Series.

Peter Pan's Sister

May McAvoy and Her Greatest Ambition.

A Poor Relation (Fiction)

The Story of Will Rogers' Great New Picture.

How to Sell a Hat

As Bebe Daniels Would Do It.

Corinne Griffith

Gladys Hall
( Photographs)

If There Were Only Some Brains in the Movies!
The Unbeliever's Wish Come True.

A Broadway Farmerette Delight Evans

Hope Hampton, Forty-Five Minutes from Broadway.

Carolyn Van Wyck

Joan Jordon

Fashions in Furs and Frills

Introducing Photoplay's Own Designer.

Through a Frenchman's Eyes
What Paris Thinks of Our Stars.

Love and Co.

Doris May and Her New Affiliation.

A Week with the Stars

How They Spend Their Time.

Are Girls' Colleges Old Maid Factories? James R. Quirk
The Results of an Interesting Investigation.

Rotogravure :
College Beauty

-West and East.

Honeymoon Shanty

A Contest Fiction Entry.

The Shadow Stage

Reviews of the New Filmplays.

Life in the Films
Second of a Series.

Clo^eups

The Sheik

Rudolph Valentino's New Picture.

Why the Smile? Well, He's Going Home
Chaplin Just as He Sailed.

Frank R. Adams

Illustrated by II. R. Ballingcr

Questions and Answers

Chaplin's New Picture

Scenes from "The Idle Class."

Plays and Players

News from the Studios.

Vamps of All Times
No. V — Isis.

Miss Van Wyck Says:

Answers by Our Fashion Editor.

Soothing the Censors

Bringing the Enemy Into Camp.

The Squirrel Cage

Little About Everything.

Why Do They Do It?
Criticisms by Our Readers.

The Answer Man

33
34
35
39
40
42
44
46
47
48
50
51
55
60

Willard Huntington Wright 58

Editorial Comment

64
69

Cal. Yorke 76

Svetezar Tonjoroff 91

100

A. Gnutt 102

121

A Star Who Wasn t
Too Proud to Be

a "Hired Girl

THAT'S Helen Ferguson. Down but not
out in New York, determined to break
into pictures, she made as brave a fight
against odds as was ever fought by an
i (liver Optic hero. Her story is an inspiration
to any man or woman, and you will read it in
the December issue of Photoplay.

YJT7E might well call the December issue the
" "Inspiration Number," for, in addition to
the remarkable story of Helen Ferguson, you
will read in it of the battles against great odds
made by Betty BIythe, Lila Lee, Mae Murray,
and Mrs. Leslie Carter. Betty BIythe went
hungry day after day in New York, so hungry
that in weak moments the river looked like a
haven of rest. Lila Lee was pushed into star-
dom overnight, was declared a failure, stuck it
out when everybody expected her to quit cold,
and now Cecil de Mille declares that in ten
years she will be the greatest actress in America.
Mae Murray fought every inch of her progress.
And "The Sorrows of Mrs. Carter" is a story
that will open the eyes of anyone who thinks
that life on the stage is one round of pleasure
and comfort.

First Announcement of the Winner

of the Photoplay Magazine

Medal of Honor

THE ballots are all in. The opinions of over
a hundred thousand readers of Photoplay
have been tabulated. They have decided on
"The Best Picture of 1920." In our opinion
they have made a wise choice, one that reflects
credit on their discrimination and picture
judgment. The Photoplay Medal of Honor
will be given for the best picture of every year,
and will be the greatest mark of distinction
that a producer can strive for.

"Rosalie"

YOU know Frank Condon"s fiction. In
"Rosalie," which is one of the final stories
in the $14,000 short story contest that Photo-
play has been conducting for the past year,
you will find Mr. Condon at his best. Do not
miss it.

Charlie Abroad

JUST before he left New York Mr. Chaplin
agreed to write for Photoplay the narrative
of his adventures abroad. He left England an
obscure comedian. He returned a hero, a
great international figure. His native land
went wild over him, and three cities claimed
him as their very own. Later he will visit
France, Spain, Germany, and Russia. His
storv will run serially, devoting one month to
each land he visits. Charlie can write almost
a- well as he can act, so there's a real treat
coming to you.

{Addresses of the Leading Motion Picture Producers appear on page 112)

Madame Pctrova

SPEAKING of writing, there is one screen
and stage star who possesses real ability
and charm in this respect. Beginning with
the December issue, Madame Petrova will have
a page all of her very own. "What will I
write?" she asked when we slipped a contract
across the table for her signature. "Anything
from personalities to geology." we said. And
vet we have no idea what it will be all about.
But it will be worth while, we'll guarantee that.

So Do Hot Miss
the December Issue.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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This offer is based on the fact that the Oliver has
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If any typewriter is worth $100, it is this sturdy,
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A sensational offer

The new reduction is due solely to our simplified
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To abandon the standard price of $100 won the ap-
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We now reduce the price to $49.50 for cash or $55
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The coupon brings the Oliver to you for five days'
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AYhen it arrives, put it through every test and
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Then if you want to buy it, send $49.50 in cash. Or
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If you decide against it, ship it back at our ex-
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Remember, this is a brand new Oliver, fresh from

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When you write to advertisers i Icasi mention rHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Tfie Only Sure Way to Avoid

Do you knou' the correct thing lo
say in this embarrassing situation/

Do you know the correct thing to
wear to every social occasion/

Do you know how to word invita-
tions, acceptances, etc J

Do you know how to create con-
versation when left alone with a
noted person?

Do you know what to say when
you arrive late r.l an entertain-
ment!

WE have all liacl our embarrass-
ing moments. We all suffered
moments of keen humiliation.
when we wished that we had not done
or said a certain thing. We have all
longed, at some time or other, to know
just what the right thing was to do,
or say, or write.

Every day. in our business and
social life, puzzling little questions of
good conduct arise. We
know that people judge
us by our actions, and
we want to do and say
only what is absolutely
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the embarrassing blun-
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day by people who do not
know I

The Only Way

What Would
YOU DO—

—It

-if

ifi

There is only one sure
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— to be respected, hon-
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And that is by knowing
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What Is Etiquette?

Etiquette is not a fad. It is not a
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It is embarrassing to overturn a
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some brilliant celebrity, and not
know how to acknowledge the intro-
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cUhe World's Leading, Moving (Pitiure CsVLa&azine

PHOTOPLAY

Vol. xx

November, 1921

No. 6

The "Don't" Men

~T~ "JTUMAN beings are of two kinds, creators and destroyers.

i—l You cant be neutral. If you seem to do neither, you really destroy, for you consume,

i 1 like a parasite, that which has been created by others. Man cannot live the life of a

cocoon, wrapped in silky seclusion. That is death. So long as he lives he must

either make or unmake, must build up or tear down, must increase or deplete the world's total

of wealth and happiness.

He whose existence is guided by the word "Don't" is a destroyer. If he does happen to do
a thing, it is half-heartedly, imperfectly, with fear of failure inviting failure to attend his efforts.
But worse than that, he is a drag upon the creators. He holds them back, with all his strength,
which, pitiful though it may be, impedes progress just so much.

The average censor is a "Don't" man. He is a destroyer. He is a coward, afraid of life,
afraid of truth, afraid of his own shadow. He has a nasty mind, which can find in the purest
kiss the germs of the lowest passions, and in the loftiest tragedy only a smutty yarn. He measures
life by rule of thumb , forgetting the saying of the Teacher, " / am come that ye shall have life, and
that ye shall have it more abundantly." The censor does not want more abundant life. He
wants life cramped between the narrow parallels of his own insignificant mind.

Thus, lacking manhood and womanhood, they become timorous, pitiful creatures. Whatever
is virile, whatever is upstanding and full of the zests of life, whatever transcends the milk-and-
water philosophy of the old-fashioned copv-book, throws them into a panic, and they scream
''Don't!"

Yet, spineless as they are, they do not trust the public to choose for itself. They pretend that
their weakness is strength, and their fear is courage. With all the fanatical intolerance of witch-
burners, they strive to impale ideas upon the tridents in their self-made hells. And so they
destroy, destroy, destroy.

Recently Governor Miller of New York appointed a state commission of three State censors,
politicians every one of them. Not content with following a prescribed set of rules, these people
go beyond and condemn a picture because it "lacks artistic merit."

Could anything be more ridiculous?

How can we hope for better pictures uhen producers are harassed by the supervision of petty
minds so overcrowded with cheap politics, prejudices and ignorance? Can you imagine the
man or woman with a really great mind becoming a moving picture censor?

Away with these censors, these "Don't" men. The world needs elbow room for the creators.

Pboto£rapb by Melbourne !?purr.
Mrs. Wallace Reid.
as Bill. Mrs. Reid.
picture. She was a

and William Wallace, known week-days
by the way, is soon to appear in a new
celebrated screen actress when she was
Dorothy Davenport.

NOT so long ago my husband undertook to tell the
readers of Photoplay Magazine how to hold a wife.
He didn't say whose, but let that pass.
It has taken me sometime to digest his remarks.
Besides, it's one of my matrimonial rules never to answer my
husband without counting ten, especially if I somewhat
disagree with him.

My theory is that wives are not held at all. Man has no
more to do with terminating a marriage than he has with
continuing it. Wives either decide to stay married or to try
Reno for their indigestion. It is often not so difficult to hold
a husband as to want to hold him.

Now I am a firm advocate of marriage. I have been mar-
ried— to my first and only husband — for eight years. I do
not believe in tooting the trumpet of connubial bliss too
vociferously. I always distrust a married woman who talks
too much about her happiness, as I distrust a man who talks
too much about his honesty. On the other hand. I can say
without fear of contradiction that Wally and I don't insult
each other in public and have kept out of the Sunday Supple-
ments.

Our marriage has been what is called successful — and when
I say that I'm handing myself the cut-glass bathing suit
because I honestly consider that marriage rests entirely with
the woman.

Marriage — with a few modifications perhaps — will continue
to toddle along, statistics and prophecies aside. Because
while there may be only one happy marriage in a hundred,
that one is a supreme happiness that nothing else can furnish.
Inconstancy in love may give some passing thrills, but con-
stancy furnishes the only real happiness.

In the last analysis, it is all purely an individual problem.

Old men marry chickers as men who cannot read buv
books, for their friends to enjoy — beautiful women continue

COMING

BACK AT

FRIEND

HUSBAND

MRS. WALLACE REID
(Dorothy Davenport)

to be universalists in spite of iron-clad contracts — and
all other cases have their own peculiarities.

But those of us who have survived the first line
trenches have gathered some general truths by way of
ammunition and have discovered where some of the
mines lying hidden may be of assistance to our fellow
sufferers. Ignorance is the mother of most matrimonial
ailments.

Therefore, while Elinor Glyn has suggested a Charm
School for young ladies, I should like to suggest a
School of Pre-Marital Training, an educational
branch that is being overlooked. Where every bride-
to-be could study dependable works on child psychology
and rearing of infants, since taking a child to raise and
marriage are identical in most respects.

If anything ever happens to Wally, I shall apply for
a position as matron of an orphan asylum.

For, being married to a man who has been fortunate
enough to become a popular screen favorite, has cer-
tainly had its merits as an eye-opener on men and
women and marriage. I hate to hear a woman brag
about her own husband, but it would be but false
modesty to deny that other women besides myself have
admired Wally on the screen. Which is a business and per-
sonal asset I should be the last to deny.

Also, I have been told that he is considered quite handsome.
Personally, I like my son Bill's looks much better. Mothers
are that way.

However, all this being true, and stated with as much
modesty as I have at my command, let me tell you that it
has kept "Mama" — as Wally always has and always will
call me — reading her little book in order to work out a happy
home for the three of us.

The few remarks which I am about to make are not personal
in any sense of the word. They are gleaned from my eight
years of experience as Mrs. Wallace Reid. I have had some
unique experiences in those eight years. Many of them,
Wallv himself does not know. I have found girls hidden in
almost every conceivable place in my house. I have been
mother confessor to women who began with the idea of being
my successor to the position (without consulting Mr. Reid).
I have occasionally had an unpleasant experience.

Girls — I have stumbled across many of you in these last
eight years. I do think I understand a lot about you. I've
only just hit the quarter-century mark myself. It is love —
not man — that you are seeking, that all girls are seeking.
You dream dreams and you see visions, and your heart seeks
something to hang them on. You find this in some man
who looks and acts as you hope your Prince Charming will
look and act when he comes.

That's great. I'm tickled to death when you find it in
Wally. Really, he's very nice. He's a lot of bother and a
great deal of care, and he's intensely human and young and
he will play the saxaphone. He has a bad habit of making
plans and forgetting them, and leaving me holding the sack.
But outside of that, he's a pretty good husband — if there is
such a thing.

And I know from experience that a husband. is the
universal panacea for girlhood's troubles.

But remember — not about Wally, nor about screen
stars in general — but about your own man when he
comes. The duration of a love affair is nearly always
in proportion to the length of a woman's resistance.
I refused Wally three times. The first time I meant
it. The second time I had to be consistent. The
third time I meant — yes.

The great trouble with the modern girl — the modern
woman — is that her equality has made her too easy to
obtain, too easy of access. Thus she interferes not
only with her own business but with that of a lot of
wives. Make them win you if they want you. Don't
fall into their arms the first time they shake the tree.

And remember a pretty table heaped with goodies
looks a lot more alluring before you've eaten than
afterwards.

God endowed me so far as I am able to judge with
only three requisites for my job — red hair, a sense of
humor and the desire to mother everything in the
world from my nine stray dogs and three stray cats,
to my husband. With these few advantages, so often
ignored by the woman who cannot see any charm except
that conceived in the Rue de la Paix and executed in the
boudoir, I have managed to stagger along and be darn
happy.

So here goes.

This young man — Mr. Wallace Reid — says in his
recent article in Photoplay that if you can get your
wife to go on record as believing it's a wife's duty to
give her husband a large helping of freedom, she will
gladly live up to that. Maybe! But gentlemen, take
it from my husband's wife that it might be only because
she had fish of her own to fry. A lot of smart men go
through married life wearing blinders. Many nice
little scenes such as my husband seems to think are con-
ducted by wives merely as emotional exhausts, are
staged by the weaker sex with a definite purpose in
view.

Anyway, to me, such an
idea suggests a mother who
lets her child play with a
buttonhook because
it amuses him and she's too
busy reading a novel to take
it away from him. I'm
always afraid of a wife who
is too nice. I like to see a
self-respecting woman who
can speak her little piece if
she isn't properly treated.
There's always something
wrong somewhere with a
woman who takes too much
"program" from her hus-
band.

The feminine secret of suc-
cess lies in never letting a
man know how obvious he is.
.Heaven bless 'em, how ob-
vious they are. But never
let them know you don't find
them subtle as a Tallyrand.
The means by which Wally
and Billy attain their ends
are so similar it is to giggle.

Dot and Wally, having a
little harmony in the music
room of their new Beverly
Hills home. Nlrs. Reid says,
in her story: I have been

married to my first and only
husband tor eight years, and
1 can say without fear of con-
tradiction that Wally and I
don t insult each other in
public and have kept out of
the Sunday Supplements.

Extracts from an article on "How to
Hold a Wife," by Wallace Reid, in the
January issue of Photoplay Magazine :

THERE may be a lot o' ways to make a man happy, but
there's just one way to make a woman happy and that's
to love her.

IF you can get your wife publicly t go on record that she
' 'believes it a wife's duty to give her husband all the free-
dom he desires, you'll find she'll stay put and consequently
manage to be happy about a lot of things that would other-
wise open the tear ducts.

OMEN" d > not grow tired of love. It is an appetite
that grows with gratilying

WOMAN is still pagan enough to want her love-life sym-
bolized. The little daily attention, the simple flattery
of small gifts, of amusements arranged with an eye to her
tastes, or remembrances of her desires are, to her, "outward
signs of an inward grace." She is more capable of getting
joy from small things.

\ IAN actually^ desires above all things to be sure of his
wife's faithfulness.

IF a man is unfortunate enough to find that he has frozen
hi> wife into the arms of another man. he shouldn t run
lor a gun; he should run for another woman.

A WOMAN wants you to love her because she is beauti-
ful, not think her beautiful because vou love her.

HE tree of marriage needs a lot of pruning.

A HUSBAND must be prepared for a certain number of
scenes. The uncivilized feminine nature revels in
scenes and the wise husband must help his wife to enjoy
herself as much as possible.

TREAT her advice and opinions with infinite respect.
A woman loves to believe she is responsible for a man's
success. (Especially, says Mrs. Reid, if it happens to be true.)

Aet neither of them has a suspi-
cion that "Mama" is not com-
pletely fooled by their deep
masculine sagacity.

Ladies, ladies, just one word I
pray thee note. Just one word
that blocks nearly every com-
plaint a man has to make of a
good wife. Just one word that
if adhered to will give you the
. whip hand on every occasion.
Tact. TACT. And its twin
si>ter. good taste.

Tears are no longer any ad-
vantage to woman. Cheerful-
ness is the greatest gift Hymen
can bestow. Fortunately I never
cry except from rage.

Of a certainty, man likes to be
sure of his wife's fidelity, not
only because it convinces him of
her moral soundness, but it proves
his superlative attractiveness.
Therefore an occasional period of
uncertainty gives him a much
needed stimulus. And while
women do adore the bonbons of
life — the small frills and flattering
attentions — don't forget a piece
of bread and butter and a little
meat once ina while, in the shape of
trust, affect ionand companionship.

It may be a wise thing for a
man who finds he has driven his
wife into (Continued on page 106)

Pbologrji i i Dii

The Chevalier Maurice de Vaudrey, the romantic, hard-working young
hero ot "The Two Orphans — played by Joseph Schildkraut.

HK was running up and down stairs.
He'd run up, stop a minute, and run down again.
And oh, yes, he had a young lady with him. In one
arm he was carrying the young lady and with the other
he was fighting off some rude gentlemen who couldn't see that
he had his hands full and were trying to tickle him with
swords.

It was a warm day. That is, you might have called it warm
il you weren't running up and down stairs. Then you would
have called it something else. The young man was all dressed
up and he was perspiring. In fact, the perspiration was run-
ning down his face as fast as he was running up and down stairs.
I felt so sorry for him.

Presently he stopped. He released the young lady. He took
out a lace handkerchief and wiped his face. He sighed.

"That's all, right now, .Mr. Schildkraut," said D. W.
Griffith's sixth assistant.

"THE FUTURE

is the opinion the critics

have of Joseph Schildkraut.

Herein he is introduced to you.

Mr. Schildkraut unbuttoned the diamond buttons
of his beautiful brocaded coat. Then he took off his
v ig. Then he sat down.

! had to interview him. I began.

Aren't the costumes charming?" I said tactfully.
Joseph Schildkraut is a gentleman.
"Yes, charming," he replied, smiling a rather
forced, but still a willing smile, "charming. Of course,
they're rather — er — warm, still — "

I had seen him in "Liliom." He plays the Hun-
garian roughneck, the title role of Franz Molnar's
play, produced by the Theater Guild. He gives a
superb characterization of the young man who goes to
Heaven and then to Hell at the Garrick. People all
around you say, "Oh, yes, that's Joseph Schildkraut.
He's from Europe, you know. Aren't those Continen-
tals charming?"

And you watch him and think how easy it must be
to be a Continental, whatever that means. And you
recall that Max Reinhardt called him "the hand-
somest man in Europe." And you think, "Ah — and
in America, too."

"Oh, yes, I like it." Schildkraut was saying; "it
means getting up at an unearthly hour in the morn-
ing, to get to Mamaroneck from New York by nine,
and then of course I'm busy every minute of the day,
until six, and it is a rush to get to the theater in time
for the evening performance. But I like it very
much."

He looks, when he isn't in action on the set, like a
young man from a fine family who has dropped into
the studio and has had someone say to him, "How'd
you like to be an actor? Well, slap on some makeup
and get in this scene."

He has been on the stage for years, and years. He's
twenty-six now. He played in every capital in
Europe, in every play perhaps ever produced in the
leading theaters. He made some pictures over there,
too. He says they were terrible. Of course he didn't
really say terrible; he talks just like a play, or some-
thing.

" I may give up the stage for a year, to make pic-
tures," he went on. "I could never give up the stage
altogether, but I find the films fascinating. It is my
dream, you know, to establish a repertory theater
conducted along the lines of those abroad; and give
there only the finest plays of the finest playwrights.
The Theater Guild is an American organization which em-
bodies my ideals. I have a contract with them, and will
soon do Franz Molnar's new play, 'The Swan,' which is a
satire on European royalty, or what was once European
royalty."

"Yes," I said. I had noticed that everyone was staring
at me. After adjusting my hat and looking around to see if
Lillian Gish or some other celebrity wasn't the object of atten-
tion I discovered that I was the cynosure of all those eyes
because any young lady who talks with Mr. Schildkraut more
than ten minutes around the studio is positively disliked.
Disliked is a mild word. The extras count their day lost,
even their $7.50, if they aren't in a scene with him. Francis
X. Bushman was never like this.

And yet his indifference is amazing. It is almost insolent.
He has an extraordinary apathy as to publicity, close-ups,
and screen credit. He has none of those little tricks by which

GREATACTOR"

By
DELIGHT EVANS

you can almost always recognize the actor. He
cannot understand adulation — American brand.

'"What difference does it make to the public where
an actor lives, what he eats and wears, with whom he
lives? So long as he does justice to his roles? It is
a great mystery to me. In Europe, the actor has no
private life as far as his audiences know. Here, an
actor's private life seems to matter more than his
ability."

Only several thousand persons have seen "Liliom."
Considerably more will see "The Two Orphans."
Griffith's new picture. (The figures will all be pub-
lished in due time.) The Xew Yorker knows Schild-
kraut as Liliom The rest of the world will know
him as the Chevalier Maurice de Vaudrey, a delightful
young man with a marvelous profile and interesting
eyes who goes about rescuing Lillian Gish from the
perils of the plot. Miss Gish was the young lady
he was rescuing up in the first paragraphs. His first
audience went home and talked about him. His new
audience will go home and write letters to him. I
shall take great pleasure in interviewing .Mr. Schild-
kraut again when his first American picture has been
released.

I hope he won't be spoiled. He is, of course, no
novice; he has had his share of press notices and
verbal bouquets. But he still regards acting as his
business. His screen work is a business proposition.
He doesn't believe it himself, if you know what I'm
driving at.

His ideas on pictures are by no means epoch-
making, but his viewpoint is that of the Continental,
and therefore of some interest.

Upper Photo by Frank Diem. Lower Photo. Edward Thayer Monroe. Court' sy of thi ["heal '

Above, the lovely Lillian Gish, who does the best
work of her career as Menriette, the elder ot the two
orphans. To the left. Schildkraut, as he looks in
those rare moments when he is not working.

"Three pictures I have seen which rouse my interest," I

Schildkraut ;, "They were 'The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari,' 'Senti-
mental Tommy,' and 'Broken Blossoms.' The German pictures
shown in this country have not, to my mind, been as good as Amer-
ican products. 'The Cabinet' had a definite idea; it attempted
and achieved it. The others — 1 cannot honestly praise. Pola
Negri, I understand, has made an amazing success here. It is
because of her vivid personality rather than her acting, I think.
Henny Porten is the leading screen actress abroad."

He likes Mr. Griffith. He would. I have a feeling that the
genial D. YV. G. didn't engage him for the role of the Chevalier
1 ecause he is a great actor. The Chevalier doesn't have to do a
ureal deal of acting. A part that would be impossible and insipid
in the hands of two-thirds of our matinee idols becomes .1 real, thrill-
ing, and truly romantic role as Schildkraut (Continued on pave 109)

ROMANCE

FROM

MOTH-BALLS

D. W. Griffith has revived
"The Two Orphans."

THERE was a moon.
It shone upon the
women in their high
white wigs and their
widespread skirts of silk or
satin and their shining shoul-
ders; upon the men. in their
gorgeous brocaded coats and
curled wigs. It shone upon
the three silvery fountains,
and the marble statues, and
upon the trees, which were
after Corot. To the tinkling
strains of an old minuet, they
danced.

It was France, of the last
Louis.

They were curtsying and
bowing, their tiny toes twin-
kling and the silver buckles on
their slippers gleaming —

"Just a little more life,
boys and girls," came a voice
from somewhere. "Just a
little more life, children!"

It was Mr. Griffith speak-
ing.

He was on top of a very
high platform, with a mega-
phone— yes, they do use them
once in a while — and three
cameramen and six assist-
ants. He was enjoying himself. He
was watching the lovely, lighted
scene witli as much pleasure as
though he hadn't directed it all him-
self.

To the left, above. Sheldon Lewis as Jacques, and
Lucille La Verne as Madame Frochard. in Griffith s revival
of the French classic. Directly above. Dorothy and
Lillian Gish. as Louise, the little blind girl, and Henriette.
Below, Joseph Schildkraut as the Chevalier.

^B> In fact, Griffith is going to do it again. He is. once

more, making a costume picture. And if he doesn't beat
the Germans at their own game — making old-time ro-
mance live again — quite a few people will be very much
surprised. He is resurrecting that noble old story "The
Two Orphans," by Adolphe d'Ennery, with a cast that
includes Lillian and Dorothy Gish as Henriette and Louise,
the title roles; Joseph Schildkraut. the great young
European actor, as the Chevalier Maurice de Vaudrey;
Creighton Hale as Picard; Lucille La Verne as Madame
Frochard; Sheldon Lewis as Jacques; and Frank Puglia as
Pierre. It ought to make a pretty good picture!
And Theda Bara.

Yes. Theda was there to see "The Two Orphans" be-
ing done right. You know she did it for Fox some time
ago. And she asked to meet Lillian Gish, who was an
adorable Little Orphan in a rose-and-lavender costume —
one of those demure things that only Lillian can wear —
and she asked Lillian how on earth she ever made up that
way. You see Miss Gish u>es very little makeup. Theda
couldn't understand it. because she always, if you re-
member, blacks her eyes and — oh, well, you remember.
They say that Dorothy Gish is doing her finest work as
Louise, the little blind girl. Everybody is glad that she has left her
ack-w it; comedies and is playing a part that will give her an oppor-
tunity to do something besides pout. And she's doing it. Hers is
really the fat part of the picture, and nobody feels better about it
than Lillian.

WEST is EAST

A Few Impressions
By DELIGHT EVANS

GLORIA SWAXSOX
Was All Curled Up
In a Big Chair,
With the Sun Streaming
On her Reddish Hair.
Are you shocked?
I Thought So.
You Didn't Know
That Gloria

Could Curl Up; and as For
Red Hair, you Didn't Know
She had Any — that it was
Red, I Mean.
She wasn't Wearing
A Pearl Gown and
Her Hair

Wasn't Fixed like a Fiji-Islander's.
The Only Thing
I Recognized
Was her Xose.
I Love that" Xose.
Without it, Gloria
Wouldn't Have
Conquered the World — even il
Cecil deMille did
Want to Change it befor.- he
Engaged her.
She

Hasn't an Accent — unless
It's Middle-Western, and
I didn't Xotice it.
"How did you Like
'The Great Moment?'
" Xot very Well," said Gloria.
"You Should See
My Baby. She has
Several Teeth. She — "
"What

Do You Think
of Elinor Glvn?"
"We're

Very Good Friends.
I Admire her
Because she has Brains.
I Haven't Any.
I

Have More Fun
With Gloria. Mother Says
She Looks Exactly Like Me
When I was a Baby.
She has my Xose.
Adela Rogers St. Johns and I
Get Together

And Talk about Babies. She
Has Two, you Know.
Would You Like to See
Little Gloria's Piciures?
I Don't Show them to Everybody.'
It is a Darling Baby — even if
It didn't Belong
To Gloria Swanson,
— You'd Think So.
I Wanted you to See the picture-.
I Asked her.

"I'm Sorry," she Said Seriously;
"But I Can't. I Feel
That my Baby
Is the Greatest of All Gifts.
Her Little Life
Is her Own, and
If she Wants to be an Actress

When she is Older, I

Won't Try to Stop her.

But

I Want her Childhood

To be Unprofessional.

I've Made Up my Mind about it.

You Can't Blame Her.

And

You'll Have to Take

My Word for it

It's a Sweet Baby and it Looks

Just Like her.

THE Telephone Rang. It had
Been Ringing All the Time
But 1 Haven't Mentioned it,
Because

It wasn't anybody
Important:
Just
Personal Friends and

"If my little baby wants to be an actress

when sne is older, said Gloria Swanson,

"I won t try to stop her! "

The Home Office and

Interviewers.

"Hello," said (.loria.

"Why, June Walker!

Wherever

I lave you Been?

It's been

Five Years —

Come Right Up!"

She Turned to Me.

"I Used to Know her

At Essanay,

In Chicago. I

Was Playing Small Parts, and

I Met June, and

Took her Home with Me.

She Stayed with

Us — my Mother and Aunts —

For Quite a. While and Then

1 Went to California and

She Went to Xew York. I

Saw her Name in the Papers and

Knew she Made Good; but

I Never Heard from her — I thought

She had Forgotten Me."

June is on the Stage —

She Made one Picture —

She's a Tiny Thing with

Wonderful Eyes and Smile —

She Looks Like May McAvoy,

She and Gloria

Behaved

Just Like any Two School-Girls

At a Class Reunion.

I'm Strong for Gloria, Personal.

If she Ever Decides to Make

Personal Appearances,

You'll Agree with Me.

THE Xice Thing
About Xew York
Is that you Can Walk Along any Street
And See Stars.

I Went to "The Golem" — that's at the
Criterion on

Broadway and 44th Street — opposite
The Claridge Hotel, where
Celebrities Stay —
And I Saw Edgar Selwyn and
I Came Out Behind
A Slim Lady who Looked
Like Drian's Drawings.
She Walked Beautifully.
Her Gown was Good.
Her Voice was Throaty.
I Hurried Around and
Looked Back.
It was Irene Castle, and
Ward Crane was With her.
You Know he is her Leading man
In "French Heels."
They Turned in at
The Algonquin, where
They Probably Saw
Eugene O'Brien and
Richard Barthelmess and
Mary Hay.
Dick has finished
"Tol'able David" —
He Worked Day and Xight
To Get it Done.

THE END OF THE ROAD

A story of the theater and of a sublime friend-
ship surpassing love of man for woman.

By
OCTAVUS ROY COHEN

Illustrated by T. D. Skidmore

THE curtain dropped upon the final tableau of the musical
comedy. "A Pair of Spades," in which Brannon and
Craig were starred. The capacity audience, aching with
the after-effects of excessive laughter, applauded tumul-
tuously. The curtain sped upward and the two veteran black-
face comedians bowed acknowledgment: bowed first to the
audience, then to each other, then to the audience again. Once
again the curtain dropped, concealing from the company the
exodus out ront.

Backstage there was a wild scurrying. Chorus girls crowded
like ants up the narrow stairway leading to the second floor
dressing rooms, unhooking scanty costumes as they went and
chattering ceaselessly. Minor members of the cast proceeded
more leisurely. Stagehands, working swiftly, placed the first
set for the morrow's matinee. Then the curtain was raised
again, disclosing a house ghastly empty. And on the stage,
hand in hand, as they had taken the curtain call, stood Brannon
and Craig.

Alone they stood, dignifying the black makeup and the
comedy costumes through which they had become a byword
from Portland to Portland, from the Great Lakes to the Gulf.
They said nothing for awhile: nor did they see the rows of
motheaten, empty chairs out front.
In the eyes of both men was the soft
light of tender reminiscence ... It
was Dave Brannon who broke the
silence, and he spoke without looking
at his partner.

"Forty years ago tonight, Tom:
right here in Birmingham. ..."

The other nodded slowly. "And
from that day to this, Dave — there's
always been a team of Brannon and
Craig. Not a split-up, nary a quarrel
..." He unclasped his hand and
placed his arm gently around the
other's shoulder. ' ' Getting old — like
we are —it feels good to think about
that."

"They'll remember the name, Tom
— whea we're gone. No one else has
ever done it — in all the history of the
theater ..."

They were thinking of a recent
criticism in the Atlanta Constitution:
"Brannon and Craig are not merely

blackface comedians: they arc artists of the first rank. Their
hold upon the affections of the theater-going public will become
a tradition. . ." .

They walked from the stage together; walked slowly and
heavily, as old men walk. They were unmindful of the stark
drabness of the pi I Jefferson theater. They recalled their first
engagement in this house when it shone in pristine glory. And
too, forty years' had inured them to the vicissitudes and
wrack of the theatrical-road. The bare brick walls, the bat-
tered scenery, the musty odor peculiar to decaying theaters,
the reek of cheap greasepaint: it was as vital to their lives as
food, air, water.

Dave Brannon entered the star's dressing room: Tom had
always insisted that his partner take the best of the poor
accommodations backstage. And Craig closed the door of his
own cubbyhole. And then, because the theater was an old
one and did not have running water — even for the stars — they

HERE is a really great
short story. It is un-
doubtedly the best thing
Octavus Roy Cohen has ever
done, and that is no small
statement. Rarely in fiction do
you meet two such characters as
Brannon and Craig. In a coming
issue of Photoplay he has another
story equally worth reading,

The Horizon

washed off their black makeup in buckets of water which h
been made tepid over an electric heater.

Only the doorkeeper remained when they stepped from the
stage door into the noisome little alley and thence into the grim
darkness of Second Avenue. To the right stretched the black
void of laundry buildings, ramshackle stables, a negro under-
taking establishment. They turned the other way, crossed
Eighteenth street and so continued to Nineteenth, passing a
half dozen ornate picture houses, now dark; a couple of all
night lunch counters, a drug store a-seethe with last-moment
trade.

As they turned northward on Twentieth street Tom Craig
made a single comment: "When we blossomed out in Birming-
ham forty years ago — it was a pretty cheesy burg, wasn't it:'"
"Awful." Dave Brannon was never loquacious. "Empty
tent that night. We slept in a bai n

" Uh-luth ! And ate hot dogs for dinner."
" Kinder different from now, eh Tom? Harry says then-
twenty-four hundred in the house tonight "

" Big place now. I'm stuck on this town. We started o;
gether here."

Their fortieth anniversary as a blackface team: the end of
their fortieth year of partnership and
— what was more — of friendship.
Forty years during which they had,
shoulder to shoulder, bucked fate and
trouble and adverse circumstance:
playing square and straight with
managers and public — and not al-
ways profiting thereby — until here,
tonight, they pridefully faced the
past as two old men whose names
were written in indelible ink in the
history of the American stage.

And tonight, in celebration of their
anniversary, they did a very strange
thing. At the Wiener Palace they
obtained six frankfurters, each en-
cased in a crisp Vienna roll. With
Tom Craig carrying the package — he
being the junior by four years — they
walked slowly and heavily up the
avenue to pause before a row of som-
ber boarding houses which had ob-
viously been handsome residences in
the era of Birmingham's civic ado-
lescence.

' 'Bout a half block down that street yonder was the lot,
1 >ave."

"Yes. Tent-show . . . that was the first night they an-
nounced the team of Brannon and Craig."

"Eighteen dollars at the box-office that night; remember?
Old George Carney divided it up among us for something
eat — all that he didn't have to use to feed the horses — and told
us to hustle for shelter."

"Great night; that. We each ate three wienies. Golly, I
was hungry after they were gone."

Solemnly these two makers of stage history opened their
package. With the air of men performing a sacred ritual, each
took a sandwich and munched upon it with appetite whetted
by memory of the insatiable hunger of the long-gone dav-
Things had changed in forty years. From a mere village,
Birmingham had developed into the industrial metropolis

Drawn by T. D. Skidmore

In the wings stood Tom Craig. He was trembling like a leaf. He felt as
though his knees could not support him and he put his weight gratefully
upon the encircling arm of Dave Brannon. "It's the night I've dreamed
of, Tom, Dave was frankly crying. "You're the greatest actor in America ! "

Photoplay Magazine

ihe south: a live, hustling, bustling city of two hundred
thousand inhabitants. And the team of youths who had been
announced from the makeshift stage as "Brannon and Craig —
who will entertain you with jokes and dancing" were now old
men: Dave Brannon sixty-four and Tom. .Craig four years
younger. But in that forty years they had endeared themselves
to the laugh-loving American public; announcement of their
names assured capacity wherever they played regardless of the
vehicle in which they appeared. "Twenty thousand a week
you've averaged for the past eight years," they had been told
recently by a producing-manager friend. "Two thousand of
that money was paid to see the show. The rest of it was
shelled out to see Brannon and Craig!"

And the producing manager was right. Not to have seen
Brannon and Craig was inexcusable from the standpoint of the
habitual theater-goer. And there were more who could hon-
estly lay claim to having seen them in all of their historic
vehicles than there were those who had never seen them at all.

To the eye of the casual passer-by, they were not worth a
second glance. With the shedding of their makeup and cos-
tumes, twenty years was added to the age of each. They
showed their years now as the)- stood on the dark corner — two
aged men seriously munching away on frankfurters and rolls.
Two old men slightly bent of shoulder, slightly watery of eye,
slightly — Oh! very slightly — tired. Tired after forty years of
one and two-night stands, broken occasionally by a long New
York or Chicago run or an occasional week in one of the middle-
size cities.

Long since Brannon and Craig might have abandoned the
road upon which they had started as a tent-show minstrel
team. But the road was their life; they loved it, they knew it;
they understood it and knew it understood them. As min-
strels, as comedians — and then as scintillating stars — they
travelled the theatrical road year after year . . . idolized by
their public, welcomed eagerly now by old men who had seen
them first thirty or forty years ago and who counted it a bad
season when prevented from seeing them again.

And finally the frankfurter sandwiches were consumed.
They turned quietly westward, walking slowly down the wide,
tree-lined street toward the huge illuminated bulk of the
Tutwiler Hotel. They separated at the door of Dave Brannon's
room: right hands clasped tightly, the left hand of each resting
on the other's shoulder.

"Great anniversary, Tom ..."

" Yeh — forty years together. Those hot dogs still taste good
— when we remember that night — long ago."

"You bet. Good night. Tom."

"Good night, Dave. God bless you!"

'T'HE telegram puzzled Dave Brannon by the very peremp-
* toriness of its tone, and he shook his whitening head as he
re-read it meticulously:
Dave Brannon

Care "Pair of Spades" Company Theater
Baltimore, Ala yland
See me as soon as your season ends. Very
important. Also urgent.

MOE BLUMENTHAL.

"What you reckon he's got up his sleeve?" queried the sen
member of the team.

Tom Craig frowned over the message. "New show for us
next season?"

"Uh-uh! He'd have wired the team."

"Hmm! Don't know what he wants, but when Moe
Blumenthal sends a telegram like that it means something."

There was something inexplicably portentous in the appar-
ently innocent wire and during the closing fortnight of the sig-
nally successful season Dave Brannon found himself unable to
rid his mind of the summons. Nor did he agiin broach the
subject to his partner; yet, with the understanding bred of
forty years of trouping together, each knew that it was upper-
most in the mind of the other.

They were to have closed in Cincinnati, but were hurled into
Philadelphia to fill out an empty week caused by the rank
failure of a new show. On Monday morning at eleven o'clock
Dave Brannon entered Moe Blumenthal's office.

Moe Blumenthal was a picturesque figure in the world of
theatrical producers. He was known as sure-fire, with a record
of one hundred and forty-seven productions on Broadway of
which only nine were outright failures. Eleven of his shows had
set records of two consecutive seasons in New York. One had
run for ten months in Chicago.

He was a small man and very dark, inclined to rotundity.
His hair was crinkly, his eyes close-set and he had a nervous
way of jerking his hands about as though to give the lie to a
pokerish immobility of countenance which he had assiduously
cultivated. Starting out twelve years before as a program boy,
he was rated now many times a millionaire: a man known to be
nobody's fool in the matter of finance — yet charitable and big
hearted and with an almost too eager willingness to amply
recompense those who helped him.

The office was significant of the man: austere in its handsome
plainness with here and there a bit of bric-a-brac or a cheap
lithograph which shrieked at the sedate surroundings.

He shook Dave Brannon's hand: "Great season! Wonder-
ful! Brannon and Craig — best box-office card in the game!
(Continued on page 114)

IF DANIEL
HAD DONE

HIS

LION'S DEN

ACT

FOR THE

MOVIES

Piiutoerapli I

PORTRAIT of a voung lady who couldn't get a job at Marshall Field's. And Anita Loos
doesn't want to. She has her hands full writing stories for Constance Talmadgc and thinking
up new ways to fix her beautiful, smooth, black bobbed hair. She is the world's tiniest — and
cleverest — scenario writer; and she's youthful enough and pretty enough to be one of her own

heroines.

AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIRS

OF M

Manservant
and valet ex-
traordinaire to

Mr. Douglas
Fairbanks, dur-
ing his reign as a
motion picture
star and the
period of his
marriage to
Miss Mary Pick-
ford, queen of

the movies.

Revealing for

the first time

Mr. Fairbanks'

personal habits,

intimate tastes,

and private

manner of

living.

"Mr. Fairbanks is inclined to 'slap-on' his makeup, being
always in suck a violent hurry. He insists upon calling the
pomade used to wash his D'Artagnan mustache, 'cream of
celery soup. This is the makeup box Mrs. Fairbanks gave us.

It is my duty
to keep track
of everything
worn by Mr.
Fairbanks in every
scene. I know just
what shade of velvet
costume, just what
plumed hat, go with
every sequence.

IT is not my purpose in this manuscript to set forth any of the
vital historical events that future generations will desire to
consider when contemplating the extraordinary lives and

popularity of the first really great and famous motion pic-
ture stars. That, I must leave to more important individ-
uals, such as business managers, press agents and relatives.

But it has occurred to me, as a student in an humble way of
the best literature which the Fairbanks- Pickford library affords,
that I am fitted by reason of the duties which have for a long
time past fallen to my lot, to give posterity the same glimpse of
Mr. Fairbanks that Boswell has given us of Johnson — Boswell
being, as of course you know, only secretary to Mr. Johnson,
1 mt succeeding by this book in making himself nearly as famous
as his employer.

There exists, I am convinced, no better way for posterity —
and indeed for the present multitudes — to judge of a man, than
from details of his intimate personal habits, his exact mode and

manner I may say, of meeting the trivial round of every -day living and the thousand
annoyances of dressing, eating and sleeping. Where, indeed, should we be concerning
the great ones of the past, in regard to their personalities, were it not for the popular
habit which was prevalent among ladies-in-waiting, lords of the bedchamber, valets
and secretaries to write memoirs, biographies and even letters, dealing familiarly — per-
haps here and there too familiarly — with the lives of their illustrious patrons? Can we
ever be sufficiently grateful to Madame de Campan for her vivid touches concerning
that beautiful and unfortunate queen, Marie Antoinette? And how narrow, how lim-
ited, might be our conception of England's Virgin Queen, Elizabeth, were it not for the
little tales of her private life, that have come to us via the back stairs, if you understand
what I mean.

It is, I mean to say, regrettable in the extreme, that this practice seems to have gone
completely out of vogue and that in the future we will have so few of these delicious
narratives of the great, "sans ceremonie."

Taking our own case for example, fifty years from now — let us go even farther and
say a century from now — how will it be possible to gather, let us say, Mr. Fairbanks'
method of shaving or his choice as to waistcoats? Literally impossible. In fifty
years I may have forgotten, while in one hundred I shall certainly be incompe-
tent to present them as they deserve to be presented. Yet upon such things
does a man's place in the annals of fame often rest.

Photoplay Magazine

Therefore it has seemed to me wise at this time to set down
a few inner secrets concerning the famous and unusual gentle-
man whom I serve in the time-honored capacity of valet or
gentleman's gentleman. This capacity being one for which
Mr. Douglas Fairbanks, by the way, has the highest regard.
Since the age of eighteen, he says, he has always had a valet —
this, even when it actually took the bread from his mouth,
leaving him nevertheless free from such sordid matters as
laundry to concentrate upon the necessities of his career.

It has been said that no man is a hero to his valet.

That is, of course, simply another twisting of the still more
ancient saying that familiarity breeds contempt.

Such, however, need not be the case, provided of course that
the valet is a man of charity, understanding that even the great
are human, as of course they are. Naturally, after brushing
the back of a man's hair seven or eight times a day for years in
order to give the back of the head that well-groomed look which
impulsive persons who regard merely the front of themselves
in the glass and brush accordingly are never able to obtain —
one is not apt to feel the glow of hero worship or the awe of the
devotee, it is true.

Still, such asso-
ciation need not de-
stroy mutual re-
spect and apprecia-
tion of each other's
good qualities.

To proceed some-
what to the business
in hand, let me say
that while no one
has a higher regard
for Mr. Fairbanks
than myself, I must
state that it is prob-
lematical whether
there ever lived in
this or any other
age a gentleman so
difficult to valet.

To use a vulgar
but illuminating
phrase of the day,
lie is as hard to keep
one's finger on as a
flea. When one has
just thrown one's
heart into a mas-
sage, for instance,
upon the table in
our bathroom at the
studio, Mr. Fair-
banks will arise with
all the speed and
force of a young
bronco and remove
himself into a chair
on the other side of
the room, or dash
into the sitting room
after a book or
paper. In fact, it
has so long contin-
ued in this fashion,
that I am at last
quite able to mas-
sage one leg while
he sits in one chair,
and another while

he answers the telephone and still another — that is to say, an
arm or shoulder — while he shouts out of the window at the
property man.

My duties include the complete care of Mr. Fairbanks' ward-
robe, both personal and professional, of his person and. owing,
if I may say so. to my slight executive ability, to main details
of his daily living. I always hold that a good valet should be
an undercog of his employer's brain — a subconscious mind.
This is particularly true of the valet of a motion picture actor.

For example, Mr. Fairbanks never carries anything. He is
always without such necessities of life as money, matches,
cigarettes, check-books, handkerchiefs and what not, if you
know what I mean.

If Mr. Fairbanks were left to himself for a day. I shudder to think what
would become of him. In regard to every sort of matter about clothes
and small details, he is as helpless as a child. He could not tell you
where one single article he owns is at the present time. All that is up

to me.

Upon mv>clf has fallen therefore the duty of being continu-
ously upon the scene when needed to supply any of these things
when called for, yet never to be upon the scene when not. A
situation upon which Cardinal Richelieu might have exercised
his diplomacy.

To cite a concrete instance, we attended the Actors' Fund
Fair (a charity bazaar to raise funds for the needy actors, this
being the only time when actor> are ever mentioned except in
connection with salaries of over SI. 000 a week). As the
limousine drew up before the door of the studio for Mr. and
Mrs. Fairbanks — Mrs. Fairbanks, as I am sure you know, is
none other than the most famous motion picture actress in
the world, Miss Mary Pickford — Mr. Fairbanks paused with
one foot actually upon the running board and said to me,
"Joe, have you any money?"

In a dignified manner I replied, "Only the little change
that was left from yesterday. Mr. Fairbanks."

"Well, I expect we will be called upon to scatter some
change around the landscape, so go ask John for some," said
Mr. Fairbanks.* So I hurried out to locate John.

John, it might be
well to state here, is
Mr. John Fairbanks,
brother of Mr.
Douglas Fairbanks,
and also his busi-
ness manager. It is
seldom one meets
anyone heroic
enough to attempt
such a combination.
However, it being
Saturday afternoon,
Mr. John had on
hand only the can-
vas sack of current,
or petty expense
money, amounting
to about $500 in
silver. This he
turned over to me.
It is also well per-
haps to say, that
Mr. John is an asset
of greatest value to
Mr. Douglas. For,
like many great
men, Mr. Douglas
Fairbanks cares
nothing formoney of
any kind and is too
apt to permit him-
self generosities and
extravagances that
while harmless in
themselves, are yet
not consistent with
Strict orderliness of
existence and the
aim of laying by
for future years.
However, on this
day, I found it most
inconvenient to fol-
1 o w m y d i s t i n -
guished employers
about the vast, hot
and dusty grounds,
where we met many
other notables, hampered as I was by this large sack of silver
and having at every moment or two to produce from it some
needed piece of silver. Our entrance in fact was entirely
spoiled because I could not open the bag— it had been firmly
tied — to pay the twenty-five cents for our parking place. I
being the only one carrying the money. We therefore held
Up traffic for several blocks and Mr. Fairbanks expressed
himself as somewhat annoyed.

This financial habit makes it likewise necessary for me to
visit the small shops and pay up for whatever he may take
from them when he desires it. this being understood by all
the tradesmen, with whom he is, nevertheless, a great favorite.
*Mr. Fairbanks' own words. (Continued on page 110)

A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS!

By ALBERT OTIS

If certain motion pictures constituted our criterion of life, and we were to

gauge the habits, actions and conditions of mankind by what we witnessed

in these films, we would arrive inevitably at the following conclusions :

•>•»

Hi rfx.] A

I / '

./_.,.

THAT any sort of hirsute growth on
the face — Galloways, Van Dyke,
Dundrearys, Burnsides, goatee, Tol-
stoys, imperial, an honest moustache
even — is an infallible barrier against
the amorous advances of the fair sex.

THAT the telephone is perhaps the
most perfect and unfailing scientific
device of modern times — an invention
from which has been eliminated even
the remotest possibility of error, and
the immediacy of whose response,
when a number is called, approximates
almost to simultaneity.

THAT poverty immediately renders
a man incapable o. combing his
hair, and a woman of darning the
holes in her stockings.

THAT any woman in an alluring
peignoir who throws herself languidly
upon a chaise-longue and nonchalantly
lights a cigarette, is an unscrupulous
adventuress, who frequents cabarets
and is not above blackmail.

THAT all mothers of poor young
men in their early twenties are
helpless and decrepit nonagenarians,
with snow-white hair and constitu-
tional iachrymosity.

THAT the by-laws of all gentlemen's
clubs contain a rigid mandate for-
bidding anyone to enter save in the
most formal of evening dress.

THAT ninety per cent of all people
die of a mysterious and nameless
disease as yet unknown to pathology,
which, though revealing symptoms
that infallibly predict the exact hour
of demise, nevertheless leaves the vic-
tim in full possession of his mental and
vocal faculties up to the very moment
of death.

THAT all young unmarried girls are
completely ignorant of the laws of
procreation and all matters pertaining
to sex, and have been taught since
infancy that they should never sit down
except on the floor, on the edge of
tables, and on the arms of chairs.

THAT ecstasy is spelled e-c-s-t-a-c-y,
and that there are no punctuation
marks in English chirography save the
period and the dash.

THAT on every desert island in the
South Seas there is a barbershop
and a ladies' hair-dressing parlor,
maintained exclusively for the benefit
of shipwrecked lovers, so that, how-
ever long they are necessitated to
await rescue, the man may keep
shaved and talcumed and the woman
attractively marcelled.

THAT young wives who, for some
ethical reason, leave their wealthy,
capitalistic husbands and live alone in
a lower East Side tenement, invariably
soil a complete 156-piece set of china at
each meal, and consequently spend
almost their entire time washing dishes.

THAT all servant girls wear sheer
silk stockings and satin pumps, and
do a little-girl curtsey whenever spoken
to.

THAT in all fashionable cafes, open
and unabashed wooing takes place
at the majority of the tables, and after
each cabaret number everyone stands
up and violently applauds.

THAT any young woman who per-
mits the kiss of a man, however
honorable, who has not informed her
family of his undying love, bought an
engagement ring, and made a formal
proposal of marriage, is a hussy and
a jade.

THAT doves spend their entire time
perched on tree branches with their
bills juxtaposed.

THAT the average child at birth
weighs thirty pounds, measures
twenty-four inches, and has a thick
head of neatly curled hair; and that
the average child of parents who have
been married two years weighs sixty
pounds, stands two-feet-nine, walks
with perfect equilibrium, and possesses
highly developed diplomatic powers as
a reconciler of marital misunderstand-
ings.

THAT all the struggles of life, all the
forces of nature, all wars and rev-
olutions— in fact, the entire cosmic
machinery — has but one object and one
goal, namely, the chaste caress of two
young lovers.

THAT
filled

the state penitentiaries are
entirely with innocent men
who either have been unjustly con-
victed, or who prefer to serve time
rather than tell the truth and thereby
bring disgrace upon the brother of the
girl they love.

THAT cowboys have no other occu-
pation than ordering drinks (which
they never pay for) and lolling about
the bar-room steps, fully armed and
with their horses close by, waiting for
the sheriff to give the order for an
Indian chase or the pursuit of a bandit.

THAT the main living-room (not
including the dining-room, kitchen
and bedrooms) of all small huts and
cabins of, say, ten by sixteen, is never
less than forty feet square.

THAT all butlers are adorned with
side-burns, and are suffering from
muscular rheumatism, arteriosclerosis,
locomotor ataxia, or some kindred
malaise, whose cardinal symptom is an
almost inflexible stiffness of the joints.
(The rigid butler walk, as revealed in
motion pictures, promises in time to
become a recognized physiological
idiosyncrasy, like Cheyne - Stokes
breathing, Argyll-Robertson pupils,
housemaid's knee, and writer's cramp.)

/ "1

4" J5y

jl^^^OM^k

How I Keep
in Condition

By CORINNE GRIFFITH

THIS is the third of a series of articles— not
beauty articles, but advice on how to keep fit
by women who know: famous beauties of the
screen. The film star, more than any other woman
of any other time, has to guard her greatest asset;

I KEEP in condition by keeping healthy.
I keep healthy by eating the right kind of food
and getting the right kind of exercise.
Dancing is my exercise.

We can't change the lines of our face or the
shape of our nose, although modern surgery
may work wonders. We can keep our eyes
bright and our mouth from drooping. I
think any sane, normal, healthy person is
beautiful.

Honestly, I think that the one sure-fire
recipe for beauty is happiness. The most
beautiful face and body may be unattrac-
tive if they have that sullen, dissatisfied
expression that comes from a sick mind
and sick body. Beauty is a state of mind.
That is why you sometimes have a photo-
graph taken in which you look charming
and pretty; and at other times, positively
plain and ugly. I have heard many women
wonder about it. That is the answer.

Beauty is happiness. The eye that reflects
happiness, whether that eye is blue or brown or
black or gray, is beautiful because it is interesting;
the mouth that smiles is beautiful, whether it is large or
small. And being happy is largely a question of being
healthy. And being healthy is largely a question of keeping It.

I believe in keeping fit with as little labor, or strenuous exer-
cise, as possible. My principal form of exercise is dancing.
After I get all through I find that I have not been conscious of
any laborious exercis? at all. yet I feel sure that I have reaped
the benefits of exercise. 1 like dancing particularly because it
seems to be the one form of real and beneficial exercise which
can be taken with music.

And dancing makes me happy. I have been dancing ever
since I was a tiny girl. I danced before I knew that the move-
ments I made were called dancing. When I was a little girl I
took up "fancy dancing" — that every girl in the world, I
guess, has done at one time or another. It was at a dance that
I was "discovered."

I think, accordingly, that dancing is interwoven with the
destiny of my success. I should like to dance on the stage.

Exercise, in one sense, is like a gown or a hat. A certain type
of dress may be the very last word in smartness, but it mav not
blend in with your personality. I am afraid that raising and
lowering dumb-bells would bore me a trifle, and while I like
golf and tennis, I take them as odd-time entertainment instead
of a regular exercise diet. But I have found dancing ideal — at
least for me. It brings every muscle in the body into play.
It develops the limbs. I have never found that it makes them
thick and ungainly; but it does make them hard and muscular.

For two years now, I have been taking dancing lessons from
Alexis Kosloff. In my opinion, he is the greatest of all teachers.
He is an exponent of the severe Russian school of training, and
it is a liberal education in various modes of exercise to work with
him. The bending over bars and the bending back again, and
the arm and leg movements, are just as good as any setting-up
exercises. And when you've stuck at them long enough, you're
ready to begin to learn how to dance. And for possessing a cer-
tain poise and grace of movement, I am afraid there are two,
and only two, methods: to be born with it or to acquire it
through correct dancing.

Dancing to me is a sure cure for the blues. (All of us have
them, you know, and I'm glad to say mine have been more on

her good looks. She has to keep in perfect con-
dition always — for if she doesn't, the camera's cruel
eye calls attention to her shortcomings. This month,
Corinne Griffith gives you her recipe for health and
beautv.

>eauty is happi-
ness, says Miss
Griffith. "'And
happiness is
largely a matter
I being healthy.

the azure than the in-
digo.) I turn on the vic-
trola, slipping on a jazz
record or a minuet ac-
cording to my mood —
and dance away my
troubles. You may Um\
this helpful — you may
not. I don't know. I
only know that, however
foolish it seems, it helps
me.

I use cold cream regularly to
put on and take off my make-
up. But I also regularly use a
good soap and warm water! I
do not believe soap and water
injure the complexion.

I am wondering if the alleged
"1 ieau titters " of history's noted
beauties were really respon-
sible for any beauty, after all.
Sometimes I think these noted
women would have been beau-
tiful anyhow, and that they were
beautiful in spite of rather than
because of the secret recipes they
were supposed to have used. For
instance, I have heard that
Madame Jeanne de Pompadour,
to retain the affection of Louis the
Fifteenth, excused herself from
the hunt feigning illness, to stay
at home and, in the privacv of her
own boudoir, adorn her face for
twelve (Continued on page 99)

PETER PAN'S SISTER

And there is a possibility that May

McAvoy will play Peter himself when

Barrie's classic is finally filmed.

By JOAN JORDAN

IT is a startling coincidence
that May McAvoy made
her first appearance on
the screen as a little girl
in a film that advertised a
certain brand of sugar.

One could choose no more
appropriate article for Miss
McAvoy to advertise, not if
one scanned every page in
every magazine in the world.
No wonder the sugar concern
gave her a chance when cast-
ing directors closed the door
in her face.

Of all the screen person-
alities I have met, I think
May McAvoy is the most
naturally likable. She neither
dazzles nor intrigues you,
nor causes you thrills of com-
bined awe and fear as clo some
more exotic twinklers in the
film firmament. But she
arouses at once a clean, whole-
some liking — the girl you'd
would want for your room-
mate at boarding school.

She has the biggest eyes
and the tiniest feet I have
ever seen.

I remember years ago when
I was a sob sister on a yellow
journal, there was a beautiful
French girl in the county jail
— an innocent victim from a
strange land and of a strange language
— involved in some version of the Mann
act, of which she was later entirely ex-
onerated.

She couldn't speak a word of English
and she didn't know a soul in the city.
But her big, soft violet-blue eyes spoke
a universal language irresistibly. They
won friends for her of everybody in the
jail, everybody in the courthouse, every-
body on the press, until we were all
battling earnestly and eagerly to secure
her release. I have remembered her eyes
well — very well — though a great many
world-events have flowed under the bridge
since then.

I have always compared other eyes witu
them, for beauty and appeal and sweet
innocency. But. I have never seen any as el
quentasthem until I looked into May McAvoj
the other day.

And the same rule holds good. They ha'
won for this newest star every executive, direc-
tor, cameraman, publicity man. actor and work-
man'on the Lasky lot, so that they are all daily
concerned with her comfort and welfare and
square deal.

Little May McAvoy is so new to the screen — so new to real
screen lame, since hers dates really faun "Sentimental Tommy,"

Ahove — a new portrait of

Miss McAvoy. In the oval —

a typical characterization in

one ot the recent pictures.

i:i which she scored a knock-
• hi — that her story is going
to end a thrill through the
heart of every little girl who
has ambitions to follow in the
footsteps of Mary Pickford.
May didn't leap to fame
overnight — that isn't being
done so frequently these days.
But she did rise from extra
parts to stardom in less than
three years, by a process of
stead>' development and con-
centrated work and the luck
of real opportunities.

Oddly enough, this young-
ster— who looks corn and
cream fed if I ever saw one — ■
is a born-and-bred New
Yorker. She went to school
on 104th street, played in
Central Park and had the life
ambition to become a school
teacher.

Nobody in the McAvoy
family — from the time they
lived in Ireland and Scotland
a good many generations ago,
had ever been on the stage.
And when a school friend
of May's who had been doing
small parts for a picture con-
cern interested her in the
flickering drama, the family
held up its hands as fam-
ilies have been known to do
from time immemorial
Even brother — an electrical engineer of
some reputation — declared he didn't see
why any girl wanted to go on the screen.
But May went — and from sugar rose
rapidly to extra and through a series of
sister parts to stardom.

" I don't know why it was," said she,

wit h a puzzled frown between her pretty

hows, "but for a while everybody

wanted me to play sisters. After my

first extra part — which by the way was

in 'To Hell with the Kaiser' — I became

a sort of screen sister. Madge Kennedy's

-Florence Reed's — Marguerite Clark's —

most anybody's."

But it is easily explained. She is the sort
verybody wants for a sister — until the right
ari comes along and wants her for a wife.
At present, I am told, she is the most likely
didate for that immortal and exquisite role,
eter Pan."
" I just can't sleep nights thinking about it, "
she said to me. earnestly. "'I shall never, never
get over it if I don't play it. I pray every single
night."

George Robertson, who directed her "Grizel"
in "Sentimental Tommy," is to film the famous Barrie story,
and is, in fact, in England (Continued on page 103)

Cast of Characters

NARRATED, by permission, from the
Goldwyn photoplay of the same
name, adapted from the play by Edward
E. Kidder. Directed by Clarence Badger
with the following cast:

Noah Vale Will Rogers

Dolly Faye Sylvia Breamcr

Johnny Smith Wallace MacDonald

Scollops Mollv Malonc

Rip Robert De Yilbliss

Patch Jeannette Trebool

Sterrett Sydney Ainsworth

Roderick Faye George Williams

A
POOR

RELATION

A tale of empty stomachs
and high hopes; of poverty
and wealth and children
and dreams ; and an inventor
who turns out to be — well,
read and learn —

By
GLADYS HALL

He set forth every morning with the tomes ot erudition beneath his
arms, and he returned every night to the guttering candle and the food-
less larder with "The Decline and Fall of Rome still with him.

NOAH VALE learned at an early age that he could
poultice his inner wounds with words.
"Words with finger-tips," he called them. Healing
finger-tips. Words that came from some deep source
profoundly a part of, and yet alien, from him.

At a later age he called the words philosophy.

At a still later age he discovered that the one wound his
words could not heal was that of hunger — exceedingly juvenite
hunger. Clamorous and vociferous hunger of children. The
hunger, to be explicit, of Rip and Patch.

Of course they were not really named Rip and Patch. Noah
Yale had eased for them the burdens of their somewhat con-
spicuous cloth amendments by hailing them as Rip and as
Patch. There was something quite festive and heart-warming
about the little names, thus cheerily employed. It took the
sting away from the ridicule of the more plutocratic elements
on the streets.

Rather wearily nowadays it seemed to Noah Yale as though
the best and the most he did was to endeavor to take stings
away from irremediable evils. Sometimes turning the thread-
bare of tragedy in order to bring to light the motley of humor
proved a dreary business.

There were so many practical deterrents to a benignant
philosophy. ' Of course, an empty stomach . . . empty
stomachs . . . Also, the forcible removal of one's kitchen
range necessitating, thereby, the cooking of the precariou-
victuals on a neighbor's range and "losing all the smell."
There was Rip's falling ill, obviously from lack of the proper
nourishment and the extreme difficulty in purchasing the high-
priced medicine. There was the fact that Noah Yale was a
book agent endeavoring to sell "The Decline and Fall of
p»n>e." for whom, alas, no modern could be induced to fall.

And there was the invention. Which, since this is the story of
Noah Yale, deserves a paragraph unto itself.

The invention was the hope of Noah Yale. It was the
shining hope with which he made pie and cake of foodless hours
for Rip and Patch. It was the gleaming grail toward which,
with his seamed face indomitable, he seemed to turn as he
made his daily- efforts to rise triumphant above "The Fall of
Rome." He reared sugar-loaf mountains and gingerbread
ships and isles of the blest and cinnamon castles and cascade?
of silver and gold from the incoming ship. The day when, ti> a
man. the world would realize the great and lasting good In-.
Noah Yale, had conferred upon it and would compensate him
according to his worth. For of the many thing? Noah Vale
had lost, faith was not one of them. Except in "The Decline
and Fall of Rome." He had been threatened by too many
"beware of the dog?" and anathematized by too many vitriolic
housewives to give a tinker's darn whether Rome rose or fell or
ever was for the matter of that. Hi' set forth every morning
with the tomes of erudition beneath his arms, feeling as though
he. personally, were beneath the ruins, and he returned every
night to the guttering candle and the foodless larder with the
"Fall" ?till completely with him. He even began to have a
fellow-feeling for the many who would not buy. Why should
they:' Who wanted to know whether Rome rose or fell."
Stomachs were all that mattered — the inflation or deflation • I
a stomach. A city and its dead glory — of what moment was
that?

Literature — why, literature was when he told "eating stories"
to Rip and Patch, stories in which every other word was
cream or cookie or lollipop or sausage. Stories which gorged
their round and unbelieving eyes to the same extent their
stomachs should have been.

Photoplay Magazine

The butler wheeled in a tea wagon,
assailed him. Pride goeth before

The aroma of coffee and muffins
i mufnn. Dolly left him alone.

Sometimes Scollops listened. Scollops was called by Yale
their "Good Samaritan." She was deserving. Also, she was
of the "upper classes," so to speak. She had a job. Quite a
good job. She sewed on buttons at a nearby factor)- and was
what is known as a "steady." She got four dollars a week
and had a decent room and, almost always, a bit of fish or
bologna sausage and, as often as not, some over and to spare.
The over and to spare invariably went to Noah Yale and to
Rip and Patch. Scollops did better than that, too. She gave
of her time. When Xoah Yale was away on a Saturday after-
noon. Scollops would tell rather painfully-contrived stories to
little Rip, stories wrested, with difficult}', from the meagre
storehouse of her imagination. Now and again she had two
nickels, too, and would -buy a lollipop apiece for Rip and Patch.
Of course, this was not often. Scollops was versatile. She
had still another Samaritan possibility. She was by way of
being "a belle." There was the baker boy, who gladly gave
her a stale loaf for a fresh kiss. She was wise enough to draw
upon this revenue sparingly. There was, more importantly,
O'Halley, the janitor. For some time past O'Halley had been
on the point of evicting Noah Vale and Rip and Patch. Some
day Scollops would be sewing on buttons and then there would
be nothing to save the apostle of the decline of Rome. But
with Scollops on the "set," so to speak, eviction w?s a remote
possibility. The scene shot would be something like this . . .
"What'll yer give me for a kiss, O'Halley?"

O'Halley, red, Irish and prone to blarney, would thrust his
tongue into his cheek, shoot his cuffs, hitch his trousers and
straddle the one chair of the book vender. He would gargle,
throatily, "Shine, fer a kiss from you, me darlint, what's there
Oi wouldn't do?" Then Scollops, charily, would peck his
veinous cheeks and say, simultaneously, "Be off, thin, yer
great booby, and lave Noah Vale alone."

O'Halley, amorous and quelled, would depart, muttering

something about "this toime," and the day and
the pay would be saved.

"But of course," as Noah Yale reminded
them nightly, " this cannot go on. The darkest
hour is just before the dawn. The cloud is
reversing now and underneath I can see . . ."
"A silver lining . . .?" Scollops would
hazard.

"To be sure not," Noah would laugh back, an
eye on the small eagernesses which were the
faces of Rip and Patch, "to be sure not — the
other side of that cloud's a table cloth, white
as white, and on it is silver ... to be sure.
Silver dishes filled to overflowing with cakes
and candies and fruits and pies."

There came a day when all the tales of Noah
Yale anent food failed to bring response from
Rip and Patch. A day of misfortunes when the
cat ran away with the bit o' fish Scollops had
brought in to them, leaving in her hand nothing
save a backbone. A day when two kisses left
O'Halley still glowering and the baker boy had
no stale loaves to give.

On that same day Roderick Faye received a
letter.

Now there was nothing extraordinary in the
receiving of a letter by Roderick Faye. Faye
was the richest man in town. His factory was
the chief industry of the place and he himself
the chief man, a fact of which he was com-
placently and irritably aware. Letters were
the largest part of his day and particularly
letters of appeal. They had long since ceased
to interest him. Letters from poor relations
were especially tiresome. They were always a
bit more sentimental than the others. They
generally managed to have some one thread of
personal touch that left one subconscious of
them for a brief while. They almost always
spoke of "old days" anJ of one who had suc-
ceeded where one had failed. They were
maddeningly platitudinous and alike.

The letter from Noah Yale was "different"
in that it asked for time rather than money and
spoke of " mutual benefit." But Roderick Faye
didn't know Noah Vale from Adam, and he
suspected a ruse beneath the "mutual benefit."
The man wanted to get in on him, that was it.
And once in he would lick his boot-tops with a more than
ordinarily emotional tale. Faye knew.

He summoned his secretary and handed the letter to him
with instructions to say that he had made all his appropriations
for charity for that year. He was sorry, etc., etc. This might
have gone through with the Faye efficiency and the matter
have ended then and there (along with Rip and Patch) had it
not been for the inefficiency of Roderick Faye's daughter.
Roderick Faye's daughter Dolly was the one inefficient cog in
his otherwise perfected commercial wheel. She was pretty and
tender and impulsive and Roderick Faye was not by any
manner of means the chief man in town for her. To be quite
revealing, Roderick Faye's secretary was. If Roderick Faye
had known that, his secretary would have been somebody else's
secretary in a brief space of time, but thus far Cupid gamboled
about his office and he neither saw nor heard. Of course, it
could not have occurred to him that the daughter and sole
heiress of Roderick Faye would stoop to conquer plain Johnny
Smith, whose only asset in life was his secretaryship to the
great Faye. But then, by an inverse token, it did not occur
to Dolly that his secretaryship was Johnny's only asset, or
even one of them. Mostly, it was an annoyance and an
interference. Johnny had other assets ... ah ... ! He
had tawny hair. He had deep-set eyes that gave one quivers
down one's spine when one encountered them. He had a cleft
chin and shoulders . . . ummmmm! . . . Also, he was study-
ing advertising "on the side." He was a most promising youth.
And he was by way of being "a self-made man." What more
could the heart of a maid desire on the part of a man?

Dolly's affection for her paternal parent had grown by leaps
and bounds since Johnny Smith had been his secretary.
Apparently she couldn't keep away from his office. And she
took the most specialized interest in his mail — which was
handled by his male (secretary).

Photoplay Magazine

It takes no great power of deduction to come to the point of
Dolly's reading Noah Vale's letter and the freshly dictated and
very terse reply.

"Why, Daddy!" she cried out, reading the embryonic dis-
missal over, very closely over, Johnny Smith's shoulder; "why,
Daddy, he's a relation!"

"Most of 'em are," snapped Roderick Faye, "by some hook
or crook."

"Oh, but," said Dolly, "this man is. I can feel it. Besides,
I remember mother mentioning a 'Noah' somebody or other.
The name was so arkish and funny. I think I'll investigate
this case, Dad. You never can tell."

Roderick Faye waved her aside. "Aside" proved to be
the adjoining office — which happened to be Johnny Smith's.
Faye speedily forgot Noah Vale.

Dolly Faye was, happily, without complexes. That is to
say, she was not conscicus of them. Therefore, she did not
ponder whether or not her interest in Noah Vale sprang from
purely philanthropic sources or from a more personal reaction —
the desire to be with Johnny Smith. For, " I'm going to look
Noah Vale up tomorrow," she told Johnny; "he probably lives
— poor dear— in some frightful place. I'd — feel safer — if you
would come along — "

Johnny Smith came along — but not in the capacity of the
great Mr. Faye's secretary. Inopportunely, the evening
before, he had set forth his desire to be the great Mr. Faye's
son-in-law and had been contemptuously dismissed by that
gentleman in any capacity whatsoever.

But there was something of Noah Vale in Johnny Smith.
Something, he knew not what, sustained him. Not words.
He was unawar' of words. But a persistent and not to be
suppressed something kept singing in his blood and would not
be gainsaid. He told Dolly, somewhat dismayed at the sudden
change in her father's office and her own scheme of aays entire,
that he would still be rich and famous. It would probably be
through the exploitation of someone or something else, but it
would be his own insight, foresight and resourcefulness none
the less. Neither of them suspected — but I anticipate. At

any rate, he might as well have been saying abracadabra for
aH of Dolly. The sun glinted on his hair and his mouth quirked
at the corners and there came from him as he swung along by
her side a compelling aroma of fresh air and masculine cigarette
smoke. What did it matter what he said . . . ?

They found the Vale menage to be something more than they
had bargained for. Instinctively they felt, both of them, that
in this room humor was most delicately blent with tragedy,
and pride with poverty. Dolly felt her purse to be an insult
and her father's reputation a stigma. The facts of the room
were obviously humorous. Noah Vale, looking puzzled and
awkward, was struggling with what appeared to be a huge rent
in a Aery small pair of trousers. In fact the trousers might be
described as mostly rip. In an extreme corner of the room, in
a barrel, was a small boy. His face and shoulders accosted
the eye, with a mixture of bravado and shame. A girl, a year
larger, was leaning out of the window, or the frame where a
window should have been. There were one or two chairs.

Dolly, fearful lest she be an intruder, began to talk at once,
■She said that her father had had Mr. Vale's letter; that he had
been unable to come himself and that she had acted in his
stead. That he would be most pleased to see Mr. Vale at his
home in the morning and in the meantime if there was anything
immediate she could do. Clumsily, she felt it at once, her
fingers felt for her purse.

Noah Vale thanked her. His voice creaked a little with the
unaccustomed stirring of his hopes. There was nothing
immediate, he said. Patch had ceased hanging from the
window frame and was regarding Dolly. She had never seen
anything quite like Dolly. What did Dolly remind her of?
What did Dolly, so to speak, represent? Patch racked her
brain. Suddenly — of course! Dolly represented — Dolly was
a fairy godmother. The fairy godmother of Uncle Noah's
"eating" stories. Dainty . . . perfumed . . . gracious. Yes!
YES! Patch followed up her train of thought. Well, and
then, what did fairy godmothers do? What did they always
do? And what, just now, had this one said? She had said "if
there was anything ime'jit she could do!" Do! Magic word.

Forget the invention, my dear man," said Johnny Smith, "you're a philosopher!'

Photoplay Magazine

Magic wand. Why-ee, fairy godmothers always waved wands.
Al-wayj. Yes, always waved wands and then there was light-
no, that was the Bible — then there was food. Trays 'n trays 'n
trays of it. Heaps of it. Oodles of it. Buns and pies and
cakes and cookies and ice cream and pickles and icing and
sausage and hsh, backbones and all. Patch crept nearer to
Dolly. She refused the warning signals in Uncle Noah's eyes.
Maybe he wasn't hungry. lie always said he wasn't, 'specially
at night. Only last night when he had given Rip and her the
half a sausage he had said he wouldn't eat anything for any-
thing. He said eating at night gave him nightmare. And he
said nightmare was a tumble Mac!; horse that galloped and
whinnied through one's dreams. That was win- Uncle Noah
could be so slicky and polite to the Fairy Godmother. He
wasn't rattling 'round inside, like Rip and Patch.

"Please," said Patch, in a still, small voice, "please did you
bring your wand? If you did, we want ice cream and cake and
candy and . . ."

"Patch!"

Uncle Noah's voice was as strong as the voice of Patch's
rattlings. It was not to be gainsaid. But Dolly was smiling
down on her. "I didn't bring it today, dear," she said. "I
am sorry." She cast a look at Uncle Noah, then, furtively,
she slipped two coins into Patch's hand and gave her a gentle
shove toward the door.

"What I want, Cousin Dolly," Noah Vale was saying in his
gentle, significant voice, "is opportunity."

It was arranged that Noah should call upon Roderick Faye
early the next morr.i g-

"Did you notice," Johnny Smith asked, as they left the
tumbledown building, "those bits of paper tacked up all about
the room?"

Dolly said no, she
had been more in-
terested, if not quite
clear, as to the in-
vention N o a h
wished to show her
father.

"These bits of
paper," Johnny
Smith said again.
"Gee! They said
things!"

"What'd they
say?" Dolly was
abstracted. (Were
those children
hungry?)

"Uli, all sorts of
things. Things that
sounded like sun-
beams dancing in
the rain. Silver lin-
ing sort of things
with the he-polly-
annaism left out.
Gritty thing ; — that
sang. I'll keep
remembering 'em.
I'm glad I went
there todav."

"Why, Johnny?"

" I needed to. It's
made me feel better
— different. Given
me a -aner outlook
— somehow. This
morning — fired and
all — I didn't think I
was fit for you,
sweetheart. But
now . . . well, I'm
not now . . . but
I'm going to have
you."

Dolly squeezed
his arm. He had
summed up the
philosophy of life in
the last five words.
She said, throb-

1 ingly, with a little laugh . . . "All because of those funny old
words tacked up on the walls . . ."

Johnny looked at her. Slender and sweet. "Well . . .
partly . . ." he said.

"You mustn't mention food," Noah Yale warned Rip and
Patch, as, sewed securely into their garments, they approached
the Faye mansion in the before-breakfast morning light. Vale
admonished them with a raw heart. The morning light is not
kind to hunger-pinched little faces. Not kind, either, to a
heart that has need of courage. Noah stiffened his knees.
Drat 'em, how they wabbled! He resumed, mounting the
porch steps, "And don't mention fairy godmothers. That
always leads you to think of eating. You just wait until Mr.
Faye sees this invention and buys it and then — why, then,
we'll have the fairy godmother with us all of the time."
"I hope she'll bring her wand," murmured Rip.
"Her wand's dimes," hissed Patch, with literal reminiscence.
Dolly was awaiting them. It had taken her most of the
preceding hour to induce her father to see Noah Vale. He was
crustily preparing for "the ordeal" when Dolly, anticipating
tlu- butler, admitted them.

"Father'll be right down," she said. "Bring the kiddies in
here and they can play with my Polly until he comes. Want
to give Polly some crackers, children?"

Noah Vale stiffened. Here was temptation! Could St.
Anthony have known a greater? Were these children stuff of
heroism — or stomachs? His pride made brittle his bones. He
glared at Rip. Rip was glaring at the approaching crackers.
Patch, too. Patch, though, was more approachable. Noah
Yale managed to convey to Patch that the crackers belonged
to Polly. It was years alter before Patch could regard a

parrot with any de-
gree of equanimity.
Patch resisted
temptation to the
last. Rip resisted it
until Polly let fall a
half of the cracker
bestowed upon her.
Then not all of
Uncle Noah's ges-
ticulating could
save the situation.
Kip's small teeth
were set into the
discarded morsel.
Dolly's wide eyes
were on Rip. Noah
Vale saw her turn
quite pale. She
wheeled around on
him. His face was
still set in its stiff
pride. _" Mr. Vale,"
she said, too im-
pulsively, "we
haven't breakfasted
yet. At least I
haven't. Won't you
join me?"

Noah Vale shook
his head. "Thank
you, but I couldn't,"
he said. "We just
finished our break-
fast before starting
out. It is very kind
of you."

"Oh, I wish you
would . . ."

"Thank you,
again, but we
couldn't possibly.
We ate more than
was good for us, as
it was. Didn't we,
Rip? Didn't we,
Patch?"

It was a desperate

Noah was handy with his hands. That night he
himself and Rip and Patch. He said they were

improvised a box for
"babes in the box.

{Continue ' on
page 108)

HOW

TO SELL

A HAT

Demonstrated by BEBE DANIELS

1 — Customer: That s a real good shape — girlish

and youthful, too.

Saleswoman: "I m sure it would look wonderful
on you, Madame!

Customer: Well — I 11 try it on!

2 Customer: But isn t it a littl2
plain across the front? Doesn t

it need a little something right

there?"

Saleswoman: "I declare. Madam.

if you naven't an eye for chick!

That's just what it does need to

make it simply a perfect hat!

A — Saleswoman (to her-
self) : "Watch me fix
the old lid with a flower
garden in fiont so the old
dear won t know herself
in it!"

5 — Saleswoman (in ecstasies) :
There, Madam — you were
right! It did need a little some-
thing in front. If all our custom-
ers were as easy to suit as you !"
Customer, complacently : "It
does look kind of pretty on me,
doesn t it? Wonder how George
will like it?"

2 — Customer: How does it
look? Tell me the truth,
now. I want to know if it's
really becoming, you know!"'
Saleswoman : I give you
my word. Madam, that it
just suits you grand! A lady
was just in and tried it on —
and would you believe it. she
looked a fright? But on

vnn '

ONLY THERE WERE

DURING the past eighteen months the works of twelve world-famous authors
were screened in America. Already the writings of many great artists —
among them Dickens, D'Annunzio, Shakespeare, Hugo, Poe, Merrimee, Scott,
Dante and Maeterlinck— had been transferred to the films. Not only are

JOSEPH CONRAD

Regarded by many as the greatest living

English novelist, whose story of the

South Seas, Victory, was made into a

motion picture by Maurice Tourneur.

JOHAN BOJER

The leading Norwegian novelist, whose
powerful story. The Face of the
World, was recently filmed with Bar-
bara Bedford in the principal feminine
role.

Underwood
* Underwood

SIR JAMES BARRIE

Inree of whose works nave recently
been presented as photoplays — Tne
Admirable Crichton" (called "Male
ana Female in tne screen version).
Sentimental Tommy, and What
Every Woman Knows.

VINCENT IBANEZ

Spain s most popular novelist, the
screen version of whose ''Four
Horsemen of the Apocalypse" was
one of the most pretentious of
modern photoplays.

From a Rodin head

HONORE BALZAC

1 he greatest of the French novelists, whose
Eugenie Grandet has just been screened
by Rex Ingram, under the title of "The
Conquering Power.

SIR GILBERT PARKER

The eminent Canadian author,

whose "The Right of Way and

The Money Master (renamed

"A Wise Fool") have both been

produced on the screen.

BRAINS IN THE MOVIES'

motion pictures rapidly attracting the foremost literary minds of the day,
but our directors are turning their attention more and more to the enduring
works of the masters. In time nearly all the world classics will have been re-
immortalized on the screen.

ARTHUR SCHN1TZLER

The greatest of modern Viennese
dramatists ana snort-story writers.
whose Affairs of Anatol was re-
cently produced in pictures, with \Yal-
lace Reid playing the titular role.

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

i he ' best beloved of modern story-
tellers, whose Treasure Island ' in-
spired Maurice Tourneur, and whose
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was inter-
preted for the screen by John Barrymore.

MARK TWAIN

Whose immortal satire, ' A Connecti-
cut Yankee in King Arthur s Court,
proved to be one of the most popular
of recent screen comedies.

JACINTO BENEVENTE

The eminent Spanish playwright,
whose psychological dramatic
study. The Passion Flower, was
made into an elaborate motion
picture-play by Norma Talmadge.

ALEXANDRE DUMAS

l he Father of the French Romanticists, whose

deathless classic, "The Three Musketeers,"

has just been filmed, with Douglas Fairbanks

as the swashbuckling D'Artagnan.

RUDYARD KIPLING

The recent screen version of whose-
famous love-story of India. "With-
out Benefit of Clergy." marked his
debut in motion pictures.

-11

A very formal portrait of Miss Hampton —
she isn t always as serious as this. Her
hair is of that reddish-gold so often adver-
tised and so seldom seen. Her eyes are
a sapphire blue. Don t you wish we had
color photography ?

"T hotograph by Edward Thayer Mor.ro:

Three dolls and a
dog. Beg pardon?
Why yes — that's
Hope Hampton
with the curly
pig-tails.

A Broadway Farmerette

Hope Hampton — an improved model

By
DELIGHT EVANS

BROADWAY, to most, means that section of Manhattan
between 42nd and 48th Streets. In terms cinematic,
it means from the Rialto Theater to the Capitol. That
section is always illuminated. On pleasant days,
the sunlight seems brighter there and more material than any-
where else. The glass windows of the haberdasheries and the
polished shirt-fronts of the actors and the sparkling surfaces
of sundry cabs all give back the glare. At night — ah, at night!
As some great man, visiting Broadway, said: "If only one
could not read, what a street!" The electric signs advertise
actresses and garters and automobiles and underwear — all.
one is at liberty to believe, encircling the globe. The myriad
electrics twinkle messages from the producer to the consumer;
the — but it has all been told so many times before.

I have a vastly different tale to tell. My tale is of Broad-
way. But my tale is not of the Broadway you know. It's
of a Broadway — farm!

Hope Hampton lives there. To get to Hope's farm you
have to go through the Broadway everybody knows, into the
Broadway nobody but Hope Hampton and I — apparently — ■
know. And you may not believe it, but our Broadway is
nicer than yours.

She has a Colonial house and lots of lawn. She has dogs,
and dogs arid fountains, and dogs. She has a garden with
vegetables and another garden with flowers. She — with a
little assistance from her attendants — gardens both. She is
the latest improved model Farmerette, and if the overall people
only knew it, she is the best walking advertisement the}- could
ever get.

Only her overalls were especially designed for her. And her
garden hat and her shoes and stockings cost almost as much
as the a\ ?rage farm yields in a year. And she forgot to take
her biggest diamond off, and it rolled into the pansy bed. And
I suppose one should say that the sweet flowers showed the
hard glittering stone up, and that Hope realized it. and threw
the ring away. She didn't. She picked it up and put it on
again.

Her farm has it all over the ordinary farm. It's so near
New York that when she wants to buy a new swing for the
back yard she jumps into her car and is whirled away down
Broadway in two shakes of her pet lamb's tail. She has horses
and chickens, too.

Her house is just a simple little place of twelve rooms. On
the second floor are Hope's bedroom, Hope's boudoir, and

Hope's bubble room. In the latter she keeps all her frocks.
To get out of this room she has to put several of the frocks on.
She has such simple gowns — just right for the country-. Her
jewels may not have such eclat as those advertised in the mail-
order catalogues, but what's the difference? They're good
enough for Hope.

She says she never can hope to have a real farm, because
there isn't room enough, and besides, the house has all the
modern conveniences. Once when she was tired out after a hard
day's work at the studio, she came home to her farm with a
feeling of thankfulness. Here, at last, was peace; here was
quiet. Then the telephone rang and the modiste who makes
Hope's simple little smocks called up and wanted to fit that
new satin evening gown. Hope settled down again — for a
second. Her butler came in and said the chauffeur would have
to take one of the cars and go to the grocery for some provisions
for dinner, as the delivery wouldn't get there on lime. Hope
told him to take the Packard limousine, as the Rolls-Royce
was a little too small for that sort of thing.

Then her huge watch-dog, pictured elsewhere on these pages,
began to cry and Hope picked him up and carried him to the
third floor, where he — and the other dogs — have a room to
themselves, with furniture especially built for them and every-
thing.

The little children of the neighboring farms all love Miss
Hampton. In fact, they firmly believe that while there's life
there's hope. They are standing at her gate every morning,
when she leaves for the studio. At night the same delegation
meets her again. They pop out from behind trees and shrubs
and look at her. They hide in the flower beds. They plant
themselves all over the lawn and shoot up at her. If she were
a middle-western hausfrau with ten children she wouldn't have
nearly as much trouble.

She could chase them away, you say? Of course she could.
But she doesn't. They bother her and they bore her — she's
human even if she is a movie queen; but she wouldn't hurt
their feelings for the world.

It is said that there is a certain perfume that one could not
find on Hope's dressing table in her silken rose-colored
boudoir, but I am unable to discover the name of it.

She loves to lead the simple life advocated by Benjamin
Franklin: "early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy,
wealthy, and wise." That is, she'd probably love it if she ever
tried it. As it is, she has to make (Continued on page 104)

FASHIONS IN FUR AND FRILLS

THIS month M. Raoul Bonart makes
his debut before Photoplay's read-
ers. Monsieur Bonart is a young French
aitist who wil' devote his talents in the
future to my pages in the Magazine. He
will design costumes exclusively for you,
and they will be unique and original.
M. Bon rt does not depend entirely on
the mode for his inspiration; neither does
he indulge in too imaginative designs.
You may safely copy any one of his
gowns, with the knowledge that you will
be correctly and smartly attired. In
offering you this service, Photoplay

Above: the first creation of Raoul Bonait. Both figures illustrate the use of
fur to a greater extent than ever before. The gown at the left has a skirt of
sealskin with a bodice of velvet. This has a satin surplice edged with white
georgette. With the dress is worn a short coat of seal. A black satin hat is
the finishing touch. It is youthful, simple, and very warm.

Here we have Wanda Hawley, the blonde
screen star, in her new fall wrap designed
for her by Ethel Chafnn. It is of black
lynx end silk cord — an unusual and effec-
tive combination. Her silk moire tailored
hat is most appropriate. What fashion
leaders our cinema women are!

if.

This little girl is
attempting to
describe this little
linen frock. She

says it is as smart
as anything Mother
wears ; and she is
sure you will not
see many like it;
she — so far — pos-
sesses the only
one. There will be
more !

SMiss Van Wyck's answers to questions
will be found on page 98.

Young ladies of all ages will be interested in these importations from Bourjois of
Paris. 1, is a case in lavant Morocco in any color you choose, containing two flasks
of perfume, a gold vanity box with mirror and rouge and powder, and a gold lip-
stick 2, is a cut-glass perfume container which is a replica of an antique vase from
the Musee du Louvre. Pans, filed with Talis, a flower perfume. 3, a French chased
aluminum jar of brilliantine, a perfumed preparation. 4. a pert little bottle with
its cut-glass stopper and beaded ribbon— sandalwood. 5. a silk brocade vanity
case in colored checks in a variety of colors, containing rouge, powder, mirrors
and lip-stick. 6. Rosette— blonde or brunette; two shades of rouge in boxes
typically Parisian. 7. flat gold lip-stick and eyebrow pencil, both indelible, with
jewels denoting colors of contents. 8. a combination pm-cushion and powder
box; designed by Tolmer of Paris. 9. leather perfume case for one s bag. 10. a
vanity case of rose-colored leather.

THAT WATCH FOR WINTER'S COMING

hopes to be of a real and pra< tical serv-
ice.

I must tell you that I enjoy so much
your letters. They divulge a delightful
dependence upon my judgment which is
flattering and at the same time inspiring
I wish, more than anything else, to be of
some help lo you; and when you tell me
so kindly that I have, I am moved to
greater efforts in your behalf.

{ CV.

-cL-iVv Ua_u_

lll^h

Gloria Swanson is noted for her original
costumes. I think this is one of the most
charming she has ever starred in. Square-
cut sleeves of white chiffon are its most
attractive feature. The gown is of satin
with pipings on neck, hem. sash and cuffs.

Above, at the left: one of those fascinating sweaters which are worn so m.icli
for sports, with a heavy sports coat ana sensible shoes : an outdoor ensemble
of distinction. Those sweaters are very good right now. At the right: a
piquant afternoon frock of midnight blue crepe with panels and pipings of
gray georgette. The sleeves and the hem-line are decidedly right.

This is the way every girl would like to look, I am
sure. But some of you do not wish actually to bob
your hair, so I suggest you use the National Bob.
which gives a beautiful bobbed effect by simply at-
taching the "bob ' to your own hair! It is comfort-
able and convenient; and you do not need to worry
about the difficulties of letting your hair grow It's
long and short at the same time!

You know that these two are Parisians. The girl's tiny gloves worn

with short sleeves and the boy's smart little sweater testify to that.

The frock is a simple affair and may easily be made. The coat she is

carrying has cunning sleeves and collar of white linen.

<^*

THROUGH A FRENCHMAN'S EYES

Translations of critical impressions of our film stars by Louis
Delluc, the famous Parisian critic, novelist and playwright.

EARL WHITE. A
eroirie so appetizing

that she makes the

.icissitudes and suf-
ferings of the serials in
which she plays seem de-
sirable and even seductive.

SESSUE HAYAKAYYA.
The most brilliant and un-
questionably the most ar-
tistic of the cinema's inter-
preters, possessing both sub-
tlety and power.

MARY PICKFORD.

Intellectual, child-like, in-
genuous, exhiliarating.

DOUGLAS FAIR-
BANKS. Acrobatics, grace
of manner, tenderness, emo-
tion— he manages them all
with equal ease. At once
the most dazzling and the
most resourceful of the
screen's comedians.

ROSCOE ARBUCKLE.
So simple and yet so comical.

FANNIE WARD. A

great actress, with passion
and, above all, breeding.

BESSIE BARRIS-
CALE. A comedienne in
whom intelligence, taste and

authority — whether in tense emotion or the broadest of farce
combines with a truly exceptional technique.

Jt?S

/ « / / /ff 1 ^s^iaJn^

JR"mrr*

— r?"

In A

/If //./>//*"*?

/ 1

' ■ Ifl

Impression

of Charlie

Chaplin in ""A Dog s Life,

by the

famous

Frenc

caricaturist, Petitjean.

LOUISE GLAUM. A
forceful tragedian, and a
tragic force.

DOROTHY PHILLIPS.
A clever artist, with a capac-
ity for throwing herself into
any role — and also for feeling
the part.

WILLIAM RUSSELL.
Good-lookingonly when nude.

CLARA KIMBALL
YOUNG. Habitually sincere
— honestly beautiful — com-
fortably emotional.

NORMA TALMADGE.
And a mute countenance
which speakseloquently when
necessary.

LILLIAN GISH. She has
that subtle, mesmeric quality
which makes it imperative
that one see her again and
again.

MABEL NORM AND.
For a long time merely the
partner of "Fatty" and
"Charlie." Now she has be-
come "Mabel," an expert at
all the little shades and sub-
tleties of the screen.

MARIE DORO. Mary
Garden in "Pelleas." Seeing her, I cannot help thinking of
the limpid pages of Claude Debussy.

ALICE BRADY
and there you are!

Sometimes worse, sometimes better-

JEWEL CARMEN,
go at that.

Call her a pretty blonde, and let it

CHARLES RAY'. The triumph of simplicity. A sincere
comedian with infinite tact.

MOLLIE KING. A substitute Pearl White.

MARY MILES MINTER. A trifle clumsy, a trifle broad,
a trifle vulgar. But she can smile, she is young, and she
pleases.

WILLIAM HART. A most human tragedian, with a
modernism of art which neither Guitry nor Mounet-Sully have
ever approached.

J. WARREN KERRIGAN. He is good-looking— and the
fact is not entirely disagreeable to him!

DUSTIN FAR. NUM. And what a smile!

HELEN HOLMES. The feminine Douglas Fairbanks of
the films — minus the smile.

MARY MACLAREN. If her mouth were just the least bit
larger, her smile would be truly alluring.

JULIA DEAN. A sincerity almost severe, like our own
Suzanne Despres. And a seductiveness which is Latin — with
a northern forehead.

FLORENCE REED. She has arms more beautiful than
she is; and, at the same time, she is nearly as beautiful as her
arms.

MRS. VERNON CASTLE. An excellent dancer turned
excellent mime — with taste, esprit, originality of gesture, and
all the accessories of histrionic harmony.

CHARLES CHAPLIN. A very great artist — an exquisite
comedian, humorist and clown.

BESSIE LOVE. A primitive — who can be both pathetic
and modern.

WINIFRED KINGSTON. Well, she's pretty and slen-
der. . .

CREIGHTON HALE. The American Brule— and it is
flattering to Brule.

MAE MURRAY. Her features are beautiful, paradoxical,
touching — and charming.

"BABY" MARY OSBORNE. Now that she has talent and
is conscious of it, she has the manner of a "Baby" of the music
halls.

LOVE AND CO.

In other words, Doris May
and her new contract, which
gives the world a chance to
fall in love with her by proxy.

By JOAN JORDAN

SHE is a Poster Girl.
\ on had her portrait, painted by Harrison Fisher or
Henry Hutt, above your desk at College.

Her Face is the Shape of a Heart and her Mouth is the
S'lape of a Kiss.

She is The Girl you loved so madly, so Divinely, so Decently,
when she was the Queen of the Campus.

You can find pages and pagesdevoted to descriptions of hei in
any of Robert W. Chambers' best sellers — and whatever
you may think of Mr. Chambers' novels, his Heroines
are adorable beyond belief.

Doris May is — Just Girl.

She isn't marvellously beautiful, or exotic, or per-
fect.

She's Pretty.

She has soft, glinting brown hair. Big soft brown
eyes. Dimples. Tiny Ankles. Golden freckles dusted
across her pert little nose.

More than any of the Screen Girls I have met, she
completely represents the American Girl that men just
naturally fall in love with. You 'J never want to be a
brother to her and IM bet no man has ever offere.
her that supreme proof of indifference — his friendship.

Yet she's the sort of a girl who would be safe in a
White Slave De-..

Photography bv Melbf urne Spur.

-newas married only a few months ego to Wallace
MacDonald. and they live in a htde Hollywood
bungalow and are ideally happy. And she's only
nine'een and has her own company. Isn't that a
real modern fairy taie ?

She's the sort of a girl with whom you want to sit in
the hammock — not one of those new hammocks that
l lie whole family can use — from baby who has it done
up for a crib to granddad who uses it for an invalid
chair — but a Regular Hammock built for Two, and a
guitar.

She is a snapshot of a man's Second Love.

Now I don't pretend to know why men fall in love.

I don't pretend that Doris May is any different than a

mndred other girls — nor half as pretty as some other

Mo\ ie Queens. Nor half as clever as many scenario writers.

Put, in my humble opinion, the fact remains that she is

The Kind of a Girl Men Fall in Love With.

And now she is going to be a star all by herself, a real star,
and all the men in America can have the fun of falling in love
with her by proxy.

Everybody remembers Doris best I think as a co-star with
Douglas MacLean in " 233-2 Hours Leave" and a series of
pictures that followed it. Her opportunities in these were
not great, but she furnished the love element to the satis-
faction of all, and she exhibited several Hashes of real comedy
genius.

Now I am going to digress from Doris for a minute, and
let you look behind the scenes of Motion Picture Production
and witness a very human drama — the kind of a business
drama that America is usually fascinated by, such as George
M. Cohan has hit us with so many times.

A great many people regretted the split-up of MacLean
and May. A good many failed to understand it. Nobody
knows just what happened — or even if anything happened —
but anyway Douglas MacLean remained with Ince and Mi-s
May did not.

Now down on the Ince lot was a young man v. 1 o acted for
the great producer as director-in-chief of publicity, exploi-
tation and advertising. He was a young gent with all the
punch, push and pep of a G. M. C. hero. He began to
figure, and as he saw MacLean gaining in pooularity and
(Continued nn page 104)

A WEEK WITH

YouVe heard all sorts of stories about the stars.

spend their time? PHOTOPLAY assigned a week

asked them to tell frankly, in the form of

SUNDAY
By Betty Compson

LAVA DEL REV! No,
it's not the name of a
cigar, but a summer re-

SUN MON TUE

. i i

and

sort on the Pacific. Mother
and I have a little cottage
near the beach, and every
week-end we come down
from Hollywood.

Sunday is my day of rest,
so I awoke at dawn and put
on my bathing suit. I took
just one quick little dip —
enough to make me raven-
ously hungry for breakfast.
Afterward we strolled up to
the midway. Playa Del Rev
boasts a big, new roller coast-
er. There was a funny little
old man selling the tickets.

''Ain't you Betty Compson?" he said to me.

I admitted it. He glanced around cautiously.

"Well," he whispered, "I'll look the other way
can slip in without a ticket!"

In the afternoon I went swimming again. This time I did
some stunts with a surf board. Dustin Farnum came hurtling
by in his new flying boat. He was so close to the water that
he recognized me and waved.

I had to deal with my sunburn very carefully. Penrhyn
Stanlaws, my director, said it showed through my make-up.
" Bathing suits and evening gowns won't jibe. Miss Compson,"
he said. Well, directors always know best, especially Mr.
Stanlaws. He'- a peach.

MONDAY
By Agnes Ayres

"THIS is my last whole day in New Vork. I leave for Los
* Angeles tomorrow. I don 't know whether I ought to tell you
what I did right after breakfast this morning! I have a fatal
weakness for Fifth Avenue 'buses. Three years ago, when I
was with Vitagraph, I used to go on 'bus sprees often. But
on this last trip to Xew Vork I haven't and I made up my mind
I was going to do it at least once before I left. So today I did.

I was due at the studio at noon. When I arrived, Tom For-
man was in front of the studio with a very pretty lady. Tom
introduced us — she was Mrs. Forman. So we had a nice lunch-
eon party at the studio lunchroom — Tom and Mrs. Tom and
Tom Meighan and I.

After luncheon I met a tall, handsome blonde man who
looked like the pictures of Carpentier. He was Rolf Arm-
strong, the artist, and he was there to pose me for a Photo-
PLAY cover. I sat for Mr. Armstrong an hour. I don't won-
der he does such wonderful covers. He goes about it so care-
fully. You don't mind, though, because he's awfully nice.

I had a dinner engagement with Alice Joyce. Alice and I
were together at Vitagraph and are great friends. I met Alice
and we had an exciting dinner, talking over old times. She
is better looking than ever.

We both had after-dinner engagements. Alice's husband,
Mr. Regan, met her, and an old friend of mine came to take
me to a farewell theater party. We saw "The First Vear."
and I think I enjoyed it best of all the Xew Vork plays. I
was born in a small town in Illinois, you know. I'm going
to stop oft' at Carbondale on my way to the Coast.

' TUESDAY
By Thomas Meighan

"TODAY was the day I went to sea and had a fight!
* The "Cappy Ricks" company reached "farthest North"
on Sunday — Bar Harbor, Maine. Yesterday Tom Forman,
my director, who (strangely enough) is also my pal, went out
and hired himself a nice five-masted schooner called the "Re-
triever."

This morning I woke at eight. Agnes Ayres, my leading
woman in this picture, and Tom Forman and I had a New
England breakfast together at the hotel. Then we went down
to the dock where the good ship "Retriever" was tied up and
met the rest of the company — and the regular crew of the "Re-
triever" got her under way. Tom Forman and I chinned with
the skipper, and finally we persuaded him to let us take a turn
each at the steering wheel. The "Retriever" steers by hand,
and we both had our troubles keeping her on the course.

"I guess you boys are tryin' to write your names in the
water," the skipper opined.

When we were four miles out, we decided to shoot. Ivan
Linow and I got set for action, and we dempseyed all over the
ship, bare-fisted, while the crew of the "Retriever" squatted
around and took a professional interest in the battle. Ivan is
a Swede and weighs two hundred and twenty, pounds. He
plays "AU-Hands-and-Feet Peterson" in the picture, and all
his hands and feet hit me in the face during some part of the
battle. After we'd fought at least half a day, Tom Forman
said he thought he might get at least twenty feet of film out
of it. So Han and I shook hands. We got back to Bar Harbor
around nine o'clock, but they had held dinner for us at the
hotel. Tom wanted me to play pinochle with him afterward,
but I chased him out and went to bed. He hadn't spent the
day fighting with Ivan!

WEDNESDAY
By Gloria Swanson

C EVEN o'clock, and I'm up. That's a shock to you, isn't it?
*— ' For breakfast I just took a horseback ride and a grape
Iruit. I 'm reducing.

It was quarter to nine when I reached my dressing room —
fifteen minutes to get all fixed. Have you heard about my
new dressing room? It's a whole bungalow — blue, with white
awnings.

THE STARS

How would you like to know how they actually
to seven famous stars — one for each day — and
a diary, of the happenings of that day.

WED

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1 FRI 1 SAT

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On the set. The picture is called "Under the Lash " — whip-
lash, not eye-lash — and I wear a funny old 1898 gown. We
shot a lot of scenes. Once we had to stop because a moth got
into the long, detachable beard Russell Simpson wears.

Sam Wood, my director, called lunch at twelve. Betty
Compson, in a beautiful Chinese kimono, and Jim Kirkwood,
in a gorgeous palm beach suit, were just ahead of me. After
lunch a lot of us sat out on the grass a while — Sam Wood,
Mahlon Hamilton, Lila Lee, Milton Sills, Betty Compson, and
some others. Somebody suggested that we play "imitations."
So Mahlon imitated Betty, and I imitated Cecil deMille. Sam
said he'd imitate me. He wrapped my "Shulamite" shawl
around him, and threw back his head and shouted, "Oh, Sa-am,
isn't it time for lunch yet?"

Then we started shooting again and worked until five.

Madame Elinor Glyn came to tea at my house and then
guess where we went? To the movies, to see "The Great
Moment!"

THURSDAY
By Wallace Reid

]\ /[OTHER, who lives in Highlands, New Jersey, spent the
*■ * *■ day with me. It was her first visit to a motion picture
studio, and she was tickled to death. We looked at Algerian
deserts and English baronial halls and San Francisco street
scenes.

Later Mother watched Elsie Ferguson and I go through the
dream scenes for "Peter Ibbetson." By the time I was un-
greased and ready for the street again, it was time for dinner.
I had tickets for the theater, and Mother and I went there
later. The show was "The Champion," which I'm to film.

After I had taken Mother to her hotel and said good-night,
I came back to the apartment, donned pajamas and bathrobe
and called up the residence of Wallace Reid, in Hollywood.
Dorothy (my wife) answered the 'phone. Our son Bill was
having a big birthday party — you know that when it's mid-
night :n New York, it's only eight o'clock in Hollywood.
Bill was just about to cut his birthday cake, but he came out
obediently to the telephone.

"I got your present, dad," he said. "When you coming
home?"

"I'm coming back just as quick as I can," I told him.

"Gee, that Georgie Beban and the other kids are eatin' my
cake a mile a minute. So long, dad," he yelled clear across
the continent.

FRIDAY
By Bebe Daniels

CTHDAY — I'm more suspicious than ever of Fridays — I got
* pinched on one. When the band plays "The Stars and
Stripes Forever," I shiver. Not thai they made me wear
stripes, and it was an awfully nice jail, as jails go, anyway.

I had a date at the hospital at ten to run in and see some of
my wounded soldiers. I brought the boys flowers and ciga-
rettes. I saw Tony Moreno handing out smokes. Tony's a trump.

At two I had to go over to the studio and toil — in a beauti-
ful black velvet negligee lined with gold cloth and trimmed in
gray squirrel. We worked straight through to dinner time.
Mother had a lovely dinner party arranged for me — some old
friends we used to know in Texas had blown into town. Lila
Lee came, too. Afterwards all of us went to a theater.

SATURDAY
By Lila Lee

NTINE o'clock. This is a day of rest for school children and
*■ ^ business men — but not for me. We are working just the
same. Got up at eight and had a very slight breakfast. I am
reducing, you know. Arrived at the studio exactly at 9:15.

Ten o'clock. Working hard on the roof, making a picture
with Wally Reid. It's a little hot. The picture is called
"Rent Free," and is very amusing. It is all great fun, because
I like to work with Wally.

Eleven o'clock. Still working — harder and harder. Every-
body is in a good humor though. That's the nice part about
this studio; they are the best-natured people in the world.

Twelve o'clock. Lunch.

Two o'clock. Back on the set. The last day up here.

Four o'clock. Took off my make-up and put on my street
clothes. My sister, Peggy, called for me and we went home.
Put on my riding clothes and met Gloria Swanson. Gloria is
a wonderful horse-woman.

Six o'clock. Dinner. While we were dining — just the
family — I turned on the phonograph. We have a little high
or low-brow music, according to the courses. You always feel
spiritual and grand when you are eating a Peach Melba.

Eight o'clock. Reading! It is really study. I am working
hard to make up for the college education I didn't get.

Ten o'clock. Dancing at home. Talk. The best time of the
day. Sometimes on Saturdays I go out to dance, but the best
kind of an evening that I can imagine is one just doing nothing.

ARE WOMEN'S COLLEGES
OLD MAID FACTORIES?

Do institutions for the higher education of women
frown on the cultivation of personal charm ? Why
are there not more college girls in motion pictures?

By
JAMES R. QUIRK

rHY," asked the chronic critic of the screen, "do
you not encourage producers of pictures to give us
women of intelligence as well as beauty? The
directors are looking too much to Mr. Ziegfeld's
Follies. All heroines of real life are not beautiful."

It wasn't an original question. The editor of this magazine
has heard it for years.

"Where do you suggest finding the types you would like to
see?" I countered.

"Among educated women," he said. "American colleges for
women are full of intelligent women who are just as beautiful
as the usual screen actresses."

In the first place, I do not admit that there is such a problem.
My friend confused intelligence with intellect, and was led into
error by a constitutional lack of sympathy with pictures,
failure to realize the purpose of the new art, and ignorance of
its requirements. Higher education is no more necessary to
the successful actress than it is to the successful social leader.
But intelligence, adaptability and personality are just as
necessary to each. And beauty is an asset for both.

The ratio of intelligence among successful motion picture
actresses is higher than it is in average women — and this does
not exclude college-bred girls. There are mental duds in
Wellesley as well as in Hollywood, and I venture to assert that
any women's college would be fulfilling its mission in the
greatest measure if it could equip its graduates with sets of
brains such as are possessed by Alary Pickford, Olga Petrova,
Mabel Normand, Pauline Frederick, Geraldine Farrar. Lillian
Gish, or many other screen celebrities.

I am not one of those who think that "woman's place is in
the home," in its extreme sense. In a broad sense, man's
place is in the home also. Great happiness comes only with a
beautiful home life, and most of the men and women of my
acquaintance who are not "home folks" are searching in one
way or another for a substitute happiness. A happy bachelor
or a contented "old maid" is a rare bird.

Marriage is the natural state for man and woman. A happy
marriage never marred a great career, and anything — even
higher education — that interferes with marriage is not con-
ducive to happiness, which after all is the conscious or uncon-
scious desire of all human beings.

The question of the adaptability of the college-bred girl for
motion picture success and the relation of higher education to
marriage touch at many points. In our consideration of the
problems we must realize that the cultivation of personal
charm is a natural instinct in woman.

Nature gave woman beauty to attract man just as it gave
flowers glorious colorings and fragrance to attract the bee, and
in moderation there is no more reprehensibility in the cold
cream massage, the powder puff, well-chosen perfumery, or
the lip stick than in the cultivation of roses. It is not
necessary to paint the lily, but why not weed the garden?
The application of a wave to the hair is just as immoral as
garden landscaping.

Which leads right up to the attitude of the faculty of the
average women's college toward the cultivation of personal
charm, and the effect in after life, with the result that more

high grade perfumes and face powders are sold per capita
among the girl operatives of factories in Lowell and Lawrence,
Mass., than among the students at Smith or Wellesley.

Man, even the average college man, will fall in love with a
beautiful "dumbbell" more quickly than with a spectacled
feminine professor of psychology. It is not that he fears the
intellectual equality or superiority of the woman. He is
following the natural instinct to seek beauty. Nature knew
more about the promotion of the birth rate than all the
scientists that ever lived.

Woman's destiny is not only the rearing of children, my
erudite critic might contend. But it is, and man's too, and if
the women's college frowns on physical beauty and concerns
itself merely with the ornamentation of the brain is it, not
failing in its mission? It is not necessary to convert the col-
leges into beauty parlors, but it would be well to realize that
there is no necessity for animosity between beauty and brains.
It is not my desire to criticise the colleges. They are perform-
ing a noble work, but it seems instinctive with the faculties
of such colleges to minimize the part that physical beauty does
play in the progress of humanity.

Read the following extract from a letter addressed to the
editor of Photoplay by the secretary of the University of
Chicago:

"Personally I think educated women of today have begun
to scorn ssx appeal. They want to meet men as intellectual
equals and attract them through mental comradeship. This
makes a delightful personality but a poor movie star."

Mrs. Adelaide L. Burge, acting dean of women, in the State
University of Iowa, writes:

"If by 'personal charm' is meant a regard for appearance,
as expressed by a scrupulous neatness of body, well cared-for
teeth and nails, hair carefully and becomingly dressed, and
attractive and modish clothes; together with the cultivation
of tact, sympathy and understanding — in other words a pleas-
ing personality, we believe the attention to and the cultiva-
tion of such charm go hand in hand with intellectual develop-
ment. The so-called charm of powder, paint, rouge and high
heels is rarely found with any very high order of mentality,
and the authorities of this university would unite in saying
that cultivation of such charm is in every way detrimental to
intellectual growth."

Photoplay has spent many weeks of effort to find the
prettiest girls in American colleges, and in the rotogravure
section opposite presents the result. Some of these girls were
chosen as class beauties by their fellow students, and among
them are the girls engaged in dramatic clubs. It must be
borne in mind that these photographs were not made especially
for reproduction with the same care given professional por-
traits of screen stars. There are some beautiful girls repre-
sented there, and some of the subjects seem to possess personal
charm that would do credit to a screen. A few of these girls
have come to quite a high point of attainment in college
dramatics. Of one of them one of our well-known authors
said, "If she is an amateur on the stage I would never care to
see a professional." They have charm and beauty. And
surely they all show intelligence of a (Continued on pagel22)

It wasn't a wonder-
ful house — and it
was located on a
funny street where
she had never been
before — but he
proved to her that
it was possible to
be very happy in it.

Illustrated oi '
H. R. Bollinger

She went to the
best hotel and went
into cloistered re-
tirement, meaning
that she spent as
much time as she
could spare from
crying, in reading
magazines.

I f *'■

THE ceremony was over.
Mrs. Hope Van Huisen, nee Warner, had contracted a
misalliance, had married a man not her own kind. She
had known that for several weeks past, ever since the
time when, in a burst of self-revelation, her fiance had taken
her to the little tumble-down shanty in which he had been born
and she had met there a gnarly old man who could not even
?peak the English language correctly. He was her father-in-law.
Hope was of the social elect in Belle Plain — she had ancestors
back at least two generations, which is plenty far enough back
in a Middle Western town. In her own right she had been the
leader of her set ever since she had been old enough to assume
the halter-strap. Everyone had looked up to her, the men to
worship and the women to envy and fear a little. No woman
could have Hope's beauty and poise without having her sister-
kind at least secretly jealous.

And now she had married a man whom nobody knew any-
thing about except that he was an architect who had come to
the city a year or so previous and had ridden to success on tin-
crest of a building-boom. No one knew even so much about
him as Hope herself, and that was precious little — nothing ex-
cept that he was really one of the poor boys of the town who
had gone away to school and had come back with a veneer of
education which, to the casual observer, covered up his lowly
origin.

\e^; Hope was suddenly possessed of a new pet, a slrange
animal, called Martin Van Huisen. her husband. He was more
interesting than any other man she had ever known; that may
be taken for granted, but he puzzled her more, too. He did not
eat out of her hand worth a cent. Every other man in her life,
even those much older than herself, had been men of affairs
who were accustomed to their own way in everything else.

Hope felt that it would be her pleasurable duty to train her
handsome young husband to become an ornament to that

HONEYMOON
SHANTY

By FRANK R. ADAMS

society- she had always graced. He needed considerable trim-
ming and reorganizing, a new set of ideas and non-skid parlor-
tricks all round. Nothing had been said about this post-mar-
riage course in conduct, naturally, but Hope had it in the back-
ground of her mind all the time as the first campaign to be en-
tered upon as soon as they had returned from their honeymoon.

The interval that lay between the wedding and the end of the
honeymoon was his to plan; that had been settled by his request
that she leave all the arrangements to him. She had acquiesced
with a secret prayer that he would not choose Niagara Falls.

He had been very efficient about it. No one knew where they
were going. Her trunks had been called for by an expressman
who refu ed to divulge their destination even when asked by a
curious and wheedling maid servant. Hope herself did not
know whether they were to travel by train, boat, or their own
automobile. He had told her simply that she would not need
any hand-baggage, as her trunks would be available. Hope was
rather pleased with the mystery. It gave an added zest to the
great adventure.

The last fond relative had been kissed and seasonable tears
had been shed by and on her at the parting from her mother.

Martin opened the door of (he automobile and followed her
in. The driver, of course, had been instructed in advance as to
where they were going. The car turned at the corner in a direc-
tion opposite to that in which the railroad station lay. That
did not necessarily mean that they were not to travel by
rail. It was perfectly natural to drive to one of the suburbs and
take the train from there, thus avoiding curious and practical-
joking friends.

Still, the chauffeur had chosen a poor road by which to leave
the city. Hope commented upon this when a particularly bad
bit of paving had jolted her for five consecutive minutes. The
view was not exactly inspiring, either. They were passing the
manufacturing portion of the city, and the grimy old building--

so rnotopiay

and high board fences were just as bleak an outlook as one
could find in Belle Plain.

Then the factories gave way to tumble-down frame houses,
and the paving got worse in some spots and gave up entirely
in others.

Hope stole a side glance at her fellow prisoner to see if he was
expecting this. There seemed to be no surprise or annoyance on
his countenance. He was smiling, but he usually did that.

Hope adored his smile because

it wasn't a professional one.

He wore it becaused he wanted

to.

The car stopped. Hope looked out and her heart gave a pre-
monitory lurch preparatory to sinking stern foremost.

They were drawn up in front of the most disreputable looking
shanty in the neighborhood. Hope knew it was the most dis-
reputable looking one, because she had seen it once before. It
was Martin's birthplace, and it was within its dingy walls that
the girl had made the acquaintance of her father-in-law, the
loose-jointed old Hollander, Peter Van Huisen, who, according
to her lights, was a being not quite human. That she had later
come to know that the old man was the custodian of one of the
finest, tenderest hearts in the world had not entirely taken away
the impression which the shock of the first meeting had printed
upon her consciousness.

"Were you going to get out here for something?" Hope
inquired of her new pet.

"Yes, dear; I thought we'd both get out."

"Was there something you wanted to show me?" Hope
asked, not making any move to dismount. "You know, I've
seen the chair your mother sat in and the shoes you wore when
you were two minutes old, and the picture of your mother and
father in the derby hat."

"Mother never wore a derby," Martin contended cheerfully,
"although I believe she could, had she wished, because she was
a very capable woman. But I think you will find it worth while
to come in."

There did not seem to be any alternative offered in his re-
mark. It wasn't a request to come in if she wished, or a ques-
tion asking if she would like to. It seemed to be simply a state-

lviagazme

ment of something that he expected to occur. Hope wasn't
quite sure that she liked it as an idea. Martin must be trained
not to be so positive.

However, that could come later. It was a little too early to
correct what was doubtless an unconscious fault — this didactic
attitude of his.

So she got out of the automobile and entered the wopple-
jawed front gate. This going in by the front gate was a mere
concession to formality, because the gate was about all of the
fence that was left — the rest having been too easy to make into
kindling.

The front door of the house was not practical because the
front porch was gone and the door-sill was about three feet
above the ground. Martin went round toward the back of
the shanty.

As hope started to follow, the sudden acceleration of an
automobile motor caused her to look back at the car they
had just left.

"Martin," she cried, "he's driving awav! Call him
r*j~ back."

"What for? We won't need him any more."
"But — but — " Her vocal cords failed as her mind shot
off like a sky rocket on the tangent just opened up to her.
" You don't mean to say that this is the end of our trip — ■
that we're not going any farther."

Now, Martin Van Huisen was not a connoisseur of
women. And he was not so cock sure as he appeared, either.
He was making an experiment of which he could not foresee
the result. His voice was perfectly steady and his eye never
wavered, but he had an inner consciousness, which nobody
knew about but himself, that was shaking like an appre-
hensive jellyfish, as he said,

"No; we're not going an}- farther."
Thus the blow fell. Martin intended to live there.
She had had a funny feeling about it when the car
stopped in front of the house, but it had not crystal-
lized into a certainty until the car had departed,
leaving them stranded together
on this horrible desert isle. The
automobile was their last tan-
gible connection with Hope's
world. Here she was in an en-
vironment quite famil-
iar to this strange man,
her husband, but abso-
lutely foreign to herself
and her limited capa-
bilities. Her expe-
rience gave her no guide
to conduct. She did
not know what to do.
"All my clothes, my own things — " she began.
"Are in there," he finished for her, waving his hand at the
mournful, disreputable house that seemed to leer at her in a
drunken triumph.

She buried her face in her hands.
"I won't; I just won't!" she declared tearfully.
"Won't what?"

"Won't live here," she stated. "I couldn't."
"Why not?"

" No one would ever come to see me here. I couldn't invite
Edith Clooney to a pig-pen like this."

Martin winced at the word "pig-pen" as applied to his ances-
tral halls, such as they were, but he refrained from a retort in
kind.

"A place where no one is apt to drop in struck me as just the
spot for a honeymoon."

"It isn't as if we had to live here." Hope pouted. "You've
got some money, haven't you?" she finished scornfully.

"Yes," he admitted; " I make a very fair living. My income
is nothing like your father's, but it is enough for us to be com-
fortable on."

"And you know something about the way dwellings should
be constructed?" Hope persisted.
"Yes; that's my business."

"And yet you bring the woman you are supposed to love to a
place like this! I thought you were fine; I thought you were
kind and whimsical" — she got angrier as she went on — "but
now I see that you're just a common yokel with no thoughts

above "

She had not meant to go so far. Her crumbling castle of
romance had inspired her to a crudity of speech that was not

rnotopiay magazine

I [e held up

• pot lash across
hand lo for-

deaf
She

customary. She knew when she saw the whin
his cheek that fire lav just ahead.

But there was no way to retract
bid further speech.

" You do not have to live here," he said, marshaling Ids words
against the red insurrection of anger in his heart. "You may
li\ e where you wi h. I certainly do not want to force you along
a course which you consider a hardship. You will perhaps be
more comfortable at home or at one of the hotels. Should you
wish to see me, you will find me here."

It was a very proud speech and very youthful. And, in it
way, very funny. He could never have made it if she hadn't
called him a yokel. From his point of view, she had
been unjust, had condemned him without a full
hearing. His theory had not received a fair test.
Very well; he would stand l>y his guns.

This decision was arrived at with sickening fear
at his elbow coaching him to look at her first, to see
how adorable she was even when angry, to remem-
ber how wonderful were her eyes when they looked
at him tenderly, and how easy it would be
to call back that look by simply giving in
i m what was really a minor affair. Because,
after all. what did he care about having his

OWn WHY'

But the die was cast. No one had ever
spoken to Hope like that before. She
looked him over from head to foot with eyes
that burned him to a very unappetizing
cinder. Then she turned her back and
a ilked toward the front gate.

"If you'll wait here a moment, 1'
oil a taxi." Martin called after her.

Hope had been stricken suddenlj
and paid no attention to his hail.
passed the gate and walked down the street
briskly, just as if she knew where she was
going and what she was going to do — with
all the rest of her life.

Probably she wouldn't
live long, anyway. That
a consoling thought.
When he read the obit-
uary, Martin would doubt -
less be sorry that he had
made such a fetish of his
own will. The thought of
that sad little obituary
made Hope cry a little.
She had been wanting to
for some time and had not
been able to think up an
excuse. If it had not been dread
idea of the dignity of a nee-Warner

the curb and cried a lot. As it was, she squeezed back all but
about one handkerchiefful of tears and went on down the street
with her chin up, just as she imagined Joan of Arc would have
done if she had married the most dreadful tyrant in all the
world.

Anyway, Hope had the distinction of having achieved the
.shortest honeymoon of anyone in Belle Plain. It had lasted just
about thirty minutes from the church door to the moment when
she found herself hastening away from her tawdry Eden,
minus also her Adam, which made her twice as lonely and
abused as the original Eve.

She did not go home — she had some pride left. Instead, she
went to the best hotel and registered as Miss H. Lancaster —
that was a family name — and went into cloistered retirement,
meaning by that statement that she had all her meals served in
her room and spent as much time as she could spare from crying
in reading magazines and books which a bell-boy selected for
her from the news-stand in the lobby.
She cried herself to sleep that night.

uiiy incompatible with her
she would have sal down on

Hope moped tor two solid days, and, because she wasn't used
to it, the exertion made her exceedingly tired. It takes a very
accomplished sulker to get any pleasure out of it after the first
day. She couldn't cry any more and had decided that she
wouldn't die right away but that she did want to get outdoors
and inhale a little fresh air. This thing of being a hothouse
flower palls rapidly upon a healthy normal girl.

Si '. on the morning of the third day she went out for a walk.

She turned her
back and walked
toward the front
gate. "If you 11
wait here a mo-
ment, I 11 get you a
taxi," Martin called
alter her. Hope
had been stricken
suddenly deaf and
paid no attention to
his hail.

Late that same afternoon, Martin Van Huisen, standing be-
fore a drafting-board but not doing a thing because the memory
of his wife's arm was against his cheek pulling him away to
come and find her. no matter if she was a spoiled child, was
annoyed by a telephone-call which interrupted his reverie.
That is, he was annoyed at fust until he had answered it and
found out who was talking.

A voice said,

"'Do you suppose you could get home in fifteen minutes.-'"

Martin's whole being was galvanized into instant alertness.

"I can. What's the matter? Is it serious?"

"It is. My biscuits will be done then, and they look as if
they were going to be good. It's the third batch I've made
today and the others weren't any use except to cry over. So,
will you hurry, please."

"I will. I'll be there almost before you can get the door
open."

But between Hope's early-morning walk and Martin's late-
afternoon telephone-call lay the events which culminated in the
first victory' (constructive) for the eternal masculine in the life-
long domestic struggle for supremacy in the Van Huisen— and
every other— household. (Continued on page 66)

LIFE

There is something in the meteorological conditions of
islands which inflames the lady s phagocytes with Te

proclivities.

ROBINSON CRUSOE, an English navigator of the
seventeenth century, leaped suddenly into fame as a
result of his twenty-eight years of enforced existence
on an uninhabited island; and it is the consensus of
scientific and literary opinion that his experiences were most
unusual, and that, as insular residences go, his was somewhat
strange and remarkable.

But, to those familiar with the silent drama of today, his
nautical adventures were tame and commonplace, if not
downright dull and soporific. Neither he, nor the Robinsons
of Switzerland, could boast of anything as unique and ex-
traordinary as the island life which modern film directors have
conceived and pictured for us.

Of late years the obscure and unknown islands of the South
Se i- have exerted an irresistible fascination over th? directorial
mind. No matter where a film romance may begin — whether
in the dance-halls of Alaska, the drawing-rooms of Fifth
Avenue, the cabarets of Broadway, or on the boulevards of
Paris — any director worthy of the name can contrive to get
his characters washed ashore on a tropical isle before the end
of the first reel. The minute there flashes on the screen a
gang-plank, a smoke funnel, a pair of binoculars, or a suit of
yachting clothes, you ma)- rest assured that ere the world is
fifteen minutes older you will see a palm-lined beach, and a
young man in duck trousers staggering through the surf with
a limp maiden in his arms

In considering the island life as depicted on the screen, a
word should be said regarding motion-picture shipwrecks;
fo." they, too, have peculiarities and idiosyncrasies which
render them unique.

II— THE

ISLAND

LIFE

THIS is the second of a series of
satirical articles on the dif-
ferent phases of life as depicted
in the motion pictures. "The
Social Life," "The Club Life,"
"The Underworld Life,"and "The
Wild West Life" are to follow.

By
WILLARD
HUNTINGTON
WRIGHT

Decorations by
RALPH BARTON

hese film To begin with, only unsea worthy

rpsichorean vessels, it would appear, are ever char-

tered for the purpose of navigating the
South Seas. Not only are they with-
out fire protection, but apparently they are saturated with
oil or gasoline, for flames spread through them with uncanny
rapidity. Their bulkheads are defective and on the point
of giving way. Their hulls are of papier-mache or some other
brittle material, and spring enormous leaks at the first sign
of an approaching storm. Their lifeboats are either riveted
to the decks, or else constructed so as to capsize automatically
on coming in contact with the water. One wonders how these
feeble and dilapidated ships held together long enough to
reach the tropics.

Furthermore, once there is an accident, they go down like
lumps of lead. They never hover a while, fill with water,
and gradually submerge, like ordinary ships. Not at all!
One moment' they are full afloat: the next, they have been
completely swallowed up. You see them lurch forward on
their nose and — z-z-ztl they're gone, like a coot diving for a
fish.

Even so, they do not sink with sufficient dispatch to carry
all hands down. There are always two young people who,
in some unexplained manner, manage to disannex the main-
mast, and float ashore. And this feat of dismantling the ship
is performed under water, for you plainly see the vessel sink
with the masts intact and the main-braces taut.

On all South Sea islands in motion pictures one's clothes
wear out in the most unusual fashion. For example, one's
shirt-sleeves go first. Not only do they give way while the
rest of the shirt is still in good condition, but they seem to
disappear completely, leaving frayed, tattered ends, as if they
had been run through a mangle, or violently curry-combed.
Again, the button on the collar-band is invariably the first

IN THE FILMS

In the
tively

late
upon

to come off, for all island
shirts are agape at the neck.
(The undershirt lias either
been left aboard the ill-fated
ship or else lost in the surf as
its owner swam ashore, for no
islander of the films — male or
female — has ever been known
to possess a chemise.)

Then there are the island
trousers. These perhaps are
the most distinctive article of
investiture worn by ship-
wrecked screen characters.
Their style never varies; t hex-
are never modified or re-
modelled; no innovations are
ever introduced. It is almost
as if the same pair of trousers
served for all motion-picture
dramas dealing with island
life.

Though at the time their o\\
scrambles ashore they are of white
ducking and are held up by a leather
belt bearing a monogrammed silver
buckle, they at once transform them-
selves, beneath the tropical sun, into
some coarse, dark material; and the

fancy belt is immediately converted into a crude, funiform
ceinture resembling a gasket or clothesline. Furthermore,
the bottom of each pants' leg is artistically scalloped, the
frayed ends hanging in graceful, triangular streamers.

But the most conspicuous characteristic of island trousers is
the discrepancy in the length of the legs. The left leg reaches
almost to the ankle; but the right leg peters out immediately
below the kneecap. No shipwrecked islander of the films
has yet been discovered with trousers whose legs were of equal
length. In fact, if an islander by accident comes upon a pair
of pants of uniform dimensions, he at once rolls up the right
leg to the prescribed height, in order to fulfill this basic sar-
torial tradition of cinema-island history.

The fashion in island trousers is unfailing, absolute, inexo-
rable; and one cursory glance at a gentleman's nether integu-
ments in a motion picture will instantly and
invariably inform you whether he is on an island
or on the mainland.

The garments of shipwrecked ladies of the films
are equally characteristic and a la mode.
Their skirts, like the gentlemen's trousers,
become attractively frayed and scalloped,
until they assume the aspect of a hula- Afc

A young man in
duck trousers stag-
gering through the
surf with a limp
maiden in his arms.

polite love.

dancer's costume, with over-
lapping, ribbon-like strips hang-
ing from the waist and fluttering
in the breeze.

A reference, too, should be
made to the shoes in which
screen islanders are washed
asftore. Superficially the)' ap-
pear like any ordinary foot-gear.
But no! They are of the most
fragile and flimsy material —
probably cardboard; for they
at once wear out and have to be
abandoned. An ordinary pair
of shoes would hold together at
least a year on the loamy soil of
a tropical island; but in the films
they collapse and go to pieces
almost the moment they touch
land; and motion-picture island-
ers, after their first day ashore,
are necessitated to go bare-foot.
Another interesting peculiarity
noticeable in connection with the
island life of the screen, has to do with
the masculine beard. As a general
rule, no matter how long a man may
be stranded on one of these isolated
shores, he appears at all times to be
freshly shaved and talcumed.

Numerous explanations have been put forward to account
for this remarkable hirsute phenomenon. For instance, it
has been suggested that a bottle of depilatory may have been
brought ashore from the sinking ship, or else that a barber's
kit has been washed up by the tide from some previous wreck.
Again, the theory has been advanced that all male islanders
have had their whiskers electrically removed before starting
their cruise among the Southern archipelagos.

But these explanations do not take into account the fact
that, as a rule, the cranial hair also is kept neatly trimmed and
pomaded. And this latter state of perpetual capillary elegance
on the part of the male, discloses another unique condition of
motion-picture island life — to wit: that the man's companion
is not, as is commonly given out, a (Continued on page 97)

fternoons they sit
some promontory

medita-
making

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■

AFTER THE SHOW— Paramount

WE feci like saying "Charles Ogle. . . .Charles Ogle. . . .
Charles Ogle" ... .and then concluding the review,
so poignantly does he lake the picture. After a long
screen career, which began at ihe old Edison, Mr. Ogle
has come into his own with a performance of great power
and beauty. However, there are worthy supporting
factors. There is the story, which is not the infernal
triangle, but the contests between the protective love of
an old man (Charles Ogle) and the desire of a young man
(Jack Holt) for the girl (Lila Lee). The ingredients are
not amazingly original, but the adaptation of the Rita
Weiman story — by Hazel MacDonald and Vianna
Knowlton — is handled to advantage, and the complete
whole "gets" you thoroughly — a love thing in pictures.
There is pathos, drama, vitality. William deMille, with
his directorial talent which amounts almost to genius for
making his characters real, does hi> best work in months.

AT THE END OF THE WORLD— Paramount
CIXCE "The .Miracle Man", beautiful Betty Compson
*-* has been searching vainly for a picture with which she
could duplicate the amazing success that she achieved as
Rose. After several indifferent stellar vehicles, she has
found it in her first Paramount picture, "At the End of the
World," and she may now qualify as one of the few very
bright stars. It is an unusually well constructed story,
with many highly dramatic moments, enacted against
vivid backgrounds, from the opium belt in Shanghai and
a lone light-house off the Philippine coast. It may not
convince you, but it affords an hour of excellent entertain-
ment. Penrhyn Stanlaws. the artist, who directed, proves
that he has found a definite place for himself in the
movies. Milton Sills and Casson Ferguson are in the cast.

THE

SHADOW

STAGE

Reg. U. S. Pat. OS

A Review of the new pictures

THE THREE MUSKETEERS— United Artists

A GREAT picture: one that the whole world will enjoy,
today and tomorrow. Romance, adventure, humor —
great direction, great scenario, great acting — it is one of
the finest photoplays ever produced, a real classic. You
might know that a combination of Dumas and Doug,
Knobloch and Niblo would be effective, but they exceed
your expectations. To be sure, Knobloch has taken a
few little liberties with the story of Dumas perc, such as
making Constance the niece rather than the wife of Bonu-
cieux, so that Doug may make love to her; and changing
the affair of the buckle almost entirely. Some of the
street scenes are obviously f. o. b. Hollywood; and Doug
is an American D'Artagnan despite his French mustache.
But, considering the censors, considering everything — it's
great. The continuity is as smooth as any ever written.
and Fred Niblo has done justice to it, making the scenes
dramatic and, above all, beautiful. There is one shot
of Thomas Holding, a business-like Duke of Buckingham,
outlined against a great window, that is as effective as
anything the Germans have done. Fairbanks has never
done better work; his performance is an everlasting credit
to him and to the screen. Nigel de Brullier's Cardinal
Richelieu is a marvelous piece of work. Mary MacLaren
is a youthful, chaste, and exquisite Anne of Austria: a
censored queen. Leon Barry. George Siegmann, and
Eugene Paulette in the title roles are immense. Adolphe
Menjou as the King and Marguerite de la Motte as Con-
stance are good. Don't miss this!

■ ,; - ■

■■■. ,

PHOTOPLAYS SELECTION

OF THE SIX BEST
PICTURES OF THE MONTH

THE THREE MUSKETEERS

DISRAELI

AFTER THE SHOW

THE GREAT IMPERSONATION

AT THE END OF THE WORLD

WEDDING BELLS

DISRAELI— United Artists

THIS is a thoughtful interpretation of the Louis N.
Parker play which George Arliss made famous on the
stage several years ago. Its screen success is surprising
in view of the fact that it seemed to be reliant upon the
spoken word for its value. It seemed too subtle, too
epigrammatic, for the screen. George Arliss, however,
is one of the most skillful pantomimists since Deburau,
and he makes Disraeli, the wily British statesman, the most
perfect reproduction of a historical character that has ever
been made. The direction, by Henry Kolker, is intelligent,
if uninspired. In fact, one might say that the only fault
to be found with " Disraeli" is that it is only a fine picture,
when it might have been made a very great picture. The
sets arc amazingly real; but some of the people who walk
through them are most un-English. There is Reginald
Denny, very much mis-cast; and E. J. Ratclift'e, as the
Governor of the Bank of England, who doesn't look it. .Mr.
Arliss has a wholly delightful co-star in Mrs. George Arliss,
who plays the patient Mrs. Disraeli. She is a charming
woman and an accomplished actress. There should be
a law against Mr. Arliss ever appearing on the stage or
screen without his wife. Louise Huff is a quaint sweet
Clarissa; she is perhaps the most modest of all our ingenues;
we are glad that she has returned to the films. The Hon-
orable Benjamin Disraeli held the screen for two weeks at
the same Broadway theater, which proves that he is con-
siderably more popular now than he was in Victorian
England.

THE GREAT IMPERSONATION— Paramount

IS just that. James Kirkwood "is a wonderful actor and
he proves it all over again in this thrilling E. Phillips
Oppenheim story of German spies and English gentlemen.
Those triplets of the perfect photoplay: story, production.
and acting, are well represented. Kirkwood is corking
in his dual role. lie should be slurred. lie should be starred.
(The Kirkwood yell). It is a story of the war: of an English
and a German who look alike, and impersonate each other.
You don't know who is who until the tail end of the picture.
If you didn't know beforehand, you would never think
that the same man played both parts. Kirkwood as the
Englishman looks nothing at all like Kirkwood as the
German. We don't know of another actor who could have
done better work. Ann Forrest is pretty and capable as
the heroine. Here is a program picture that is ten times
more interesting than lots of super-specials. And make
no mistake about it: it's James Kirkwood who "makes" it.

WEDDING BELLS — First National

IN "Wedding Bells," Constance Talmadge gives another
one of her artfully roguish performances. Moreover,
she is supplemented by an amusing story, excellent direc-
tion, and a competent foil in the person of Harrison Ford,
who seems never so good as when he is acting opposite the
sprightlier Talmadge. The plot involves a flirtatious
flapper and an equally flirtatious youth who. half an hour
after their wedding, quarrel over the subject of her bobbed
hair. So the flapper goes to Reno and has her marriage
license bobbed as well. The youth is about to be married
again, but his ex-wife arrives on the scene, and introduces
a few sour notes into his wedding bells. Everything,
as is customary in a C. T. picture, ends happily. The Mar
is perhaps our most consistently amusing comedienne.

CAPPY RICKS -Paramount

AN entertaining photoplay for those- who enjoy tales of
^* adventure. It's a story of the sea and of the San
Francisco water-front, and of battles waged bare-fisted.
Thomas Meighan fits his role well; Agnes Ayres in his
support. Suitable for children's viewing. From the
Peter 15. Kyne story.

MOTHER CX MINE— Associated Prod.

r^ESPITE its saccharine title, "Mother o' Mine"
*-^ departs from the usual rubber-stamp form. The old
mother does not sit at home and exude glycerine when
her boy gets into trouble — she goes out and fights for him.
The title role is well played by Claire Macdowell.
Lloyd Hughes is the son, and Betty Ross Clarke the girl.

THE SHARK MASTER- Universal

■"TOPICALLY, this is a South Sea Island tale of love and
*■ lotus. Striking sea stuff — and a couple of sharks.
(Why the title?) Some spots of photographic and loca-
tional beauty. Some atmosphere. Adequate perform-
ances by pretty little May Collins and Frank Mayo.
Rather better than worse.

SERENADE— First Nationa

OLD vintage in decorative new bottles. A tale, rather
long drawn out. of hot blood, hot love, vengeance, and
a nuptial fade-out. Story somewhat involved. Plausibly
Spanish and beguilingly colorful. George Walsh does
some ingenious escaping. Miriam Cooper is sweet if
suave. Romance plus.

PILGRIMS OF THE NIGHT— Associated Prod.

WHEN an American producer sets out to depict scenes
in the homes of the British aristocracy, he is literally
placing his head in the lion's mouth. J. L. Frothingham
does this in "Pilgrims of the Night," and gets away with
it. It is an excellent mystery melodrama, acted by a well
balanced cast, headed by beautiful Rubye de Remer, who
i- also a good actress.

THUNDERCLAP— Fox

IF you consider "Thunderclap" as a weird burlesque of
a ham melodrama, you will get a good laugh out of it ;
if you take it seriously, however, you are in for a bad
evening. It is appropriately equipped with an incom-
petent cast, absurd scenery and photography that i-^
reminiscent of the animated daguerreotype era. Mrs.
Mary Carr, J. Barney Sherry and Violet Mersereau.

WHERE LIGHTS ARE LOW— Robcrtson-Colc

OESSUE HAYAKAWA'S new picture, "Where Lights arc

^ Low," concerns a Chinese prince who comes I ■
America, learns to distinguish between "Big Dick" and
"Li'l Joe," and ultimately becomes embroiled in San
Francisco's Chinatown. Hayakawa endows it with a cer-
tain interest by t he sheer force ot" his pantomimic genius.

THE CUP OF LIFE— Incc Associated Producers

A DELIGHTFULLY impossible, exquisitely photo-
•C*. graphed motion picture whose mystery, romance
and adventure you'll enjoy unless you are extremely
practical of mind. The cast includes Hobart Bosworth,
Madge Bellamy, Tully Marshall and Niles Welch. Care-
ful handling of a fanciful story has rendered it excellent
entertainment.

A MIDNIGHT BELL— First National

TN "A Midnight Bell." Charles Ray has a typical role.
*■ an ambitious youth who clerks in a general store for
66 per week. During his first week he puts the store on
its feet, outwits a gang of bogus gliosis, and marries his
boss's daughter. (Which is a lot of work for six dollars.)
Doris Pawn is the boss's daughter.

THE MATCH-BREAKER— Metro

\/ERY, very light, but pleasing and well suited to Viola
* Dana's talents. She's an amateur adventuress here.
tangling and untangling things in her usual light-hearted
manner, with Jack Perrin attached to her train. Frivolous
stuff for your hour-to-spare. The children may safely see
(his.

THE HELL-DIGGERS-Paramount

A N average picture, and a family film. The plot requires
**■ many explanatory titles, but when the action gets
under way it proceeds in brisk manner. There's a realistic
fight aboard a gold-dredger, a dynamite explosion and
other typical movie bids for sustained interest. Wallace
Reid and Lois Wilson.

PLAY SQUARE— Fox

A GOOD, wholesome photoplay, showing the influence of
mother love in bringing a wayward son back into the
fold. In places, the mother-stuff is overworked, but other-
wise the plot is evenly developed and the suspense well
handled. Johnny Walker and Edna Murphy are co-
starred.

^Additional Shadow Stage ^Rgviews appear on page 112.

CLOSE-UPS

&diiorial Expression and Timely Comment

RS. LYDIG HOYT, the New York society
matron whose advent into motion pictures
was made much of by the newspapers, has
changed her mind and renounced her ambition
to be a screen luminary. She was to have appeared in
a picture with Norma Talmadge, and the publicity
department got the full benefit of the proposal in yards
of newspaper space. Then something happened.
There are those mean enough to suggest that five or
six reels did not constitute enough space for both
celebrities to move about in comfortably.

As a general proposition too much fuss was made
about Mrs. Hoyt going into pictures. She was not
after publicity, but is a beautiful woman and sincerely
desired to do something in a line of work she gave
every indication of being fitted for. She had much
more promise than cither Lady Diana Manners, who is
starring in a British picture for Stuart Blackton, or
Mrs. Morgan Belmont, whom D. W. Griffith used for
a small "bit" in "Way Down East." The screen would
be enriched by the addition of such a personality and
we hope she will not give up. But our advice to
any society woman who essays pictures would be to
gag the publicity department, thus insuring her a fair
chance and preventing injudicious exploitation of her
personality in P. T. Barnum manner for the purpose of
selling the pictures in which she appears.

WE know of one young society woman of unusual
beauty and intelligence who is going about it in
the right way. She went to Los Angeles several
months ago. Instead of using her own name, which is
as well known as any of the above, she assumed a very
common one and slipped by the "extra route." She is
making good in small parts, and gives every promise of
being worthy of featuring one of these days. She has
had some very interesting experiences, and enjoys the
work immensely. Among other talents possessed by
this young lady is a decided flair for writing, and she
has promised to write an article soon for Photoplay.
It will be worth reading.

REPRESENTATIVE MANUEL HERRICK, who
is said to have made a fortune in Oklahoma with
Merrick's Giant Yellow Corn and Copperfaced Here-
ford cattle before he came to Washington last year,
has gotten himself into a very embarrassing position
from which he is trying to explain himself out without
much apparent success. He first achieved the lime-
light at the capitol when he introduced a bill forbidding
beauty contests. Now it develops that he had a
plan for a little private beauty contest and as a result
several irate relatives of Washington girls went looking
for the statesman with blood in their eyes. To forty-
nine entrants in a contest held by a Washington news-
paper he sent letters offering his heart and hand,
representing himself as one of the few men in the
world who led blameless lives, holding out the hope
that the chosen one might some day grace the White
House and a lot of similar twaddle. The postoffice
department got after Mr. Congressman, and he ex-
plained that he was just trying to get evidence to
prove that "young ladies are very romantic, very
impressionable and inclined to bite at any bait that
seemed to have temptation tendered." Maybe he
was, but as a congressman he is a successful corn in-
ventor.

HERE is another side of the motion picture art — We
mean business. There are some producers who
are making a sincere effort to get something into pic-
tures besides gun-play, intrigue and sex. These men
have an appreciation of the possibilities for beauty in
the new art. They have an abiding faith in the in-
creasing discrimination of the public. They want to
give devotees of the motion picture theaters films that
no censor can object to, that no writer or artist can
criticize. Yet there is a practical side that no producer
can ignore and stay in the business very long. " Wid's"
is a daily paper in the motion picture trade field. It
goes to many thousands of exhibitors and has earned
their confidence. It points out that beautiful pictures
like "Sentimental Tommy," "Broken Blossoms," and
Vidor's "Jack Knife Man" were box office failures, and
says: "Let's get down to cases, and then some more,
with pictures. Put in the hokum — the red blood stuff.
That gets them on the edge of that 20-cent seat. Let's
get some of the beauty out and the action in. Let's
find a thrill or two or maybe more. Let's get back to
basics — primal emotions — that is what the fans want."
You cannot have beauty in pictures unless you
patronize the producers with ideals. You cannot expect
them to continue making "Sentimenal Tommies" and
"Jack Knife Men" when you show a cash appreciation
of "Sex" and "Passion Fruit."

AND now it is Geraldine Farrar and Lou Tellegen.
The handsome Lou is suing for a separation be-
cause Mrs. Tellegen changed the lock when he went
on a fishing trip and prevented his return to her
New York house. The famous grand opera star is
wisely refraining from discussing the affair in the daily
papers and leaving the talking to friend husband. She
was always a sensible woman. Divorce or separation
is deplorable and a bad example to a community,
but a public debate never settled a marital difference.

WE were riding downtown in a street car the morn-
ing the news of the trouble broke in the newspapers.
"Isn't it terrible," remarked a smug-looking person
with thick eyeglasses and thin, straight lips, "how
many divorces there are among stage and screen people.
Something ought to be done about it. There should be
a law against their marrying."

We should like to see some statistics as to the relative
number of divorces among people in these professions
compared with small store owners, lawyers, or any of
the rest of our population. The contrast might make
my bus companion realize that divorce is not restricted
to the "profession." It is an even chance that there is
one hanging on her own family tree somewhere.

DESPITE the clearly voiced opinion of the country
that Clara Hamon, who figured so prominently
and unpleasantly in the divorce and criminal courts
of Oklahoma, should not try to capitalize her dis-
gusting notoriety on the screen, she proceeded to make
a picture. The National Association of the Motion
Picture Industry is fighting to exclude it from the
theaters. No decent distributor would handle it,
any exhibitor that showed it in his theater should be
run out of town, a"nd no man or woman with the least
trace of self respect would attend again a theater that
slapped public decency in the face by defiling its screen
with it.

riUMUl'l..\\ Hl.Ui.\/JMi AU\ EK1ISINU SECTION

Olive Tell— one of the loveliest of the jam,,:. i Seiz -
nick stars — using Cutex. As a professional woman
Miss Tell knows the value of getting results with
the least time and effort. To tht millions who follow
her work on the screen her fastidious taste and
well-groomed appearance are a constant delight.

Photo hv Alfred Cheney Johnaton

The more you cut the cuticle the

uglier it grows

The right way to manicure

First, the Cuticle Remov-
er. Dtp an orange stick,
wrapped in cotton, into the
botilc of Cutex Cuticle Re-
mover. Work care fully around
the nail base, gently pushing
back the cuticle. Wash the
hands; then, when drying
them, push the cuticle down-
wards. The ugly, dead cuti-
cle will limply wipe off, leav-
ing a smooth shapely rim.

Then the Nail White. The

Cutex Nail White will re-
move the stains that will per-
sist and give the nail tips that
immaculate whiteness without
which one's nails never seem
freshly manicured. Squeeze the
paste under the nails, directly
from the tube, which is made
with a pointed tip.

Finally the Polish. A Je-
lightful jewel-like shine ofju si
the right brightness is obtained
by using first the Cutex Paste
Polish and then the Powdei ,
and burnishing by brushingthe
nails lightly across the pah): if
the hand. Or you can get ar
equally lovely lustre, insta -
taneou sly and without bur nisi. -
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liuiicyiiiuuii oiidiiLy

{Continued from page 57)

Hope had not made any concessions — not by any means.
She had no more intention of entering her own home when she
started out than she had of flying to heaven in a flying basket.

She did go over toward the poorer part of town, where the fac-
tories were and the dwellings of the factory-hands, but that was

beciuse she did not want to be seen by anyone she knew. They
would be sure to ask embarrassing questions. It was a cer-
tainty that she would not encounter any acquaintances in
Shantytown. Her friends barely knew that such a place
existed. It was a region where no oneiCoiitinued on page 94)

She wanted to run away and hide. He looked so big and rough someway . . . until he grabbed her in his arms. Then
he proved to be as gentle and comfortable as she could possibly imagine. And a wonderful person to cry on the shoulder of

when he told you how glad he was that you had come home.

rnuiuiL.ii iu.iu.it.

This is an actual photog'-atk
of Thomas Meighan's hand
holding an OMAR.

1921. A.T.Co.

frt

Regular stuff is an OMAR
in Tom Meighan's hand

They always go together —

Pen and Ink

Punch and Judy

Mush and Milk
and

OMAR and AROMA

Omar Omar spells Aroma
Omar Omar is Aroma

Aroma makes a cigarette;
They've told you that for years
Smoke Omar for Aroma.

Thirteen kinds of choice Turkish
and six kinds of selected Domestic
tobaccos are blended to give Omar
its delicate and distinctive Aroma.

C>/J Cuywileed try

-■which means that if you don't like
OMAR CIGARETTES you can
get your money back from the dealer

ou write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Open to Everybody —

The Chicago Daily News
$30,000 Scenario Contest

This contest, at the close of which there
will be awarded $30,000 in prizes to the
writers of the thirty-one best scenarios en-
tered, is dedicated to the belief, shared by
all leading picture makers, that amateur
scenario writers, with proper advice and
encouragement, can produce quantities of
strong, vivid stories, real life scenarios that

will give needed stimulus to the work of
permanently establishing moving pictures
as one of the great American contributions
to art. The contest will be national in
scope. No one will be excluded except
employes of The Chicago Daily News and
of the Goldwyn Company.

Rules and Regulations

Prizes Are Offered as Follows :

1st Prize $10,000.00
10 Prizes of 1,000.00 each
20 Prizes of 500.00 each

You don't have to be a trained writer to win one of these
prizes — plain human-interest stories told in simple language
are what is wanted.

The winner of the contest will not only receive the $lu,000
offered as a first prize, but will see his scenario shown on
the screen.

Goldwyn Will Produce It

This means that no effort or expense will be spared to
make of it a great picture.

The Judges

The judges of The Chicago Daily News contest have been
selected from the most prominent American writers, critics,
and motion picture authorities. David Wark Griffith, Samuel
Goldwyn, Charles Chaplin, Norma Talmadge, Mary Roberts
Rinehart, Rupert Hughes, Gertrude Atherton, Amy Leslie
and Gouverneur Morris compose the committee that will
pass on all scenarios submitted. All awards will be made on
a basis of merit. The judges will not know the writers'
names, scenarios being known to them by number only.

To Assist You

Starting Monday, August 22nd, The Chicago Daily News began publishing a series of daily
articles by the leading motion picture authorities of the country telling how to write the kind
of scenarios the public wants. These articles, by such eminent motion picture figures as D. W.
Griffith, Norma Talmadge, Charles Chaplin and Samuel Goldwyn, are authoritative. Scenario writ-
ing is discussed from every angle. Each article is not only interesting, but instructive.

Back copies of The Daily News may be had by writing to the Scenario Contest Editor, The Chicago
Daily News, 15 N. Wells St., Chicago, Illinois — simply enclose 3 cents in stamps for each issue
desired. The Chicago Daily News is published every week day.

Send in your scenario now, as the contest closes November 1st, 1921.

THE CHICAGO DAILY NEWS CO.

1. All manuscripts must be sent to The
Scenario Contest Editor of The Chicago Ddly
News, 15 N. Wells St., Chicago, Illinois.

2. Legal assignment to The Chicago Daily
News Co. of all copyrights of the scenario
submitted must accompany the manuscript - —
the assignment of copyright will be waived
after the awarding of the prizes on all scena-
rios that do not win prizes.

3. Manuscripts must be of not more than
5,000 words and may be written in short
story form.

4. Manuscripts must be in typewritten
form or in legible handwriting, written on
one side of paper only.

5. All manuscripts must be in the hands
of The Chicago Daily News by 12 o'clock
midnight, November 1st, 1921.

6. No manuscripts will be returned. The
Chicago Daily News will take every precau-
tion to safeguard all entered scenarios, but
will not be responsible for lost manuscripts.

7. No two prizes will be given to a single
contestant.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

The
SHEIK

The

popular romance

lives again

on the screen,

with

Agnes Ayres

and

Rudolph Valentino

in the

leading roles.

Below — A scene from

"'The Sheik, " with

Valentino and Agnes

Ayers.

Photography by

HAVE you read it? The chances arc thai you
have. The story of a handsome Aral) Sheik,
and the English woman whom he kidnaps and
holds for his own, is peculiarly adaptable to
pictures. For the glamor and the beauty of the
desert, the colorful costumes, the real love story lend
themselves to the shadows. Rudolph Valentino, the
Latin lover of "The Four Horsemen," plays the
Sheik. Agnes Ayres is Diana, the heroine. The
whole is more or less a tangible version of "Pale hands
I love, beside the Shalimar, where are you now, who
lies beneath thy spell?" But we wonder what the
censors will do to it.

Photograph by Undt-ruood & I

WHY THE SMILE? WELL, HE'S GOING HOME

YOU seldom see the world's greatest comedian as he
really looks. So this is perhaps the most interesting
photograph ever made of Charles Spencer Chaplin.
He was in New York a few days before sailing for
Europe. While he is showing streaks of grey in his hair it is
not nearly so noticeable as it seems in this picture. Over
there Mr. Chaplin will write a series of articles for Photoplay

entitled "Charlie Abroad." He intends to visit France.
Spain, Germany, and possibly Russia, in addition to his
homeland. England, which he has not seen for some year>.
While he is being acclaimed by thousands who know him as
the marvellous little man with the large feet and the tiny
mustache, his newest picture, "The Idle Class," is being re-
leased in America. It is his first since that classic "The Kid."

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MARIETTA. — You repeatedly ac-
cuse me of being conceited. My
dear child, you don't know what
conceit is. If I thought I were as
brainy as Balzac and as snappy as Steven-
son, then I would be conceited. I rate my-
self too low, if anything. Wallace Reid was
born in 1890. He came east recently to
appear in "Forever" (Peter Ibbetson),
to dance at Delmonico's, and visit his mother
and grandmother. He is back home in
Hollywood now. Address him Lasky studio.

Hester K., Dayton. — Every time I walk
to my office — and that is six days out of
seven, and sometimes seven — I have heart-
break. I pass little cripples and big beg-
gars; an old man in a ragged coat with a
beautiful bright-haired child of four, whose
dress is clean but shabby; a woman wearing
twelve diamonds bracelets and not much
else; three hundred and sixty-five motors
and twice as many Fords; a blind boy, beg-
ging— sights to make one weep. And then
some of you call me callous. Yes, Corinne
Griffith is married to Webster Campbell.
She is a Yitagraph star and he is her direc-
tor. Miss Griffith is a silken beauty; very
languorous, very charming — she has always
been very kind to me. It's her good heart.

Mary E., Dallas. — I don't know why,
but I have an idea that neither Mary Pick-
ford the second, nor William Wallace Reid,
Jr., will be movie stars when they grow up.
They will be talented, no doubt; but it is
very seldom that the children of actors go
on the stage. Although Mary II has al-
ready appeared in "Little Lord Faunt-
leroy." Eugene O'Brien was born in 1884.
His address is care Selznick, N. Y.

J. Gordon, Americus, Georgia. — I
want to thank you for that beautiful carved
ivory cane you left for me while I was on my
vacation. I am vastly pleased with it, and
intend to carry it on all occasions. All of
my colleagues, including Delight Evans, the
Editor of Why Do They Do It, and Miss
Carolyn \'an Wyck, are exceedingly jealous.
Please write to me often and ask any ques-
tions— I'll always be interested.

Gladys. — Awfully sorry, but we have no
record of a film called "The Ordeal." We
have about everything else in that line.
Perhaps you gave me the wrong title. Does
anybody know anything about it?

Ricardo, Manila. — In spite of the fact
that you call me Old Man, I enjoyed your
letter. I am not very hard to please, more
fool I. (I read that somewhere.) I haven't
Manilla Martan's address; in fact, I don't
even know there is a Manilla Martan.
There should be. The principal players in
"The Son of Tarzan " are Karla Schramm,
Gordon Griffith, Mae Giraci, P. Demsey
Tabler, Eugene Burr, Kamuela C. Searle,
Frank Morrell and Ray Thompson. Madge
Evans was with World, not Paramount.

Louise G. Way, San Antonio. — I don't
know whether or not Ralph Graves sings,
but I am sure that if he does, he sings bari-
tone. Ralph is not married, and he is a
mighty fine chap. He is not much over
twenty-one and has blue eyes.

A FRENCH caricature of Lillian Gish
in The Great Love. The title of
this picture (which has just reached
France) was changed over there to
The Poor Love " (Le Pauvre Amour) —
its magnitude having been judged, we
presume, by Gallic standards. The
caricature is by Becan and was repro-
duced from our French colleague
Cine'a.

G. R., Kingston, Ind. — I attended the
opening of "The Three Musketeers" and it
was an impressive occasion. Doug, Mary,
Charlie Chaplin and Jack Dempsey were
there: each the champion of his particular
line. So far as I know, I was the only
Answer Man there. It's a great picture;
I am sure everybody is going to like it.
Chaplin went abroad soon after the per-
formance. Edna Murphy, who is now
Johnny Walker's co-star in Fox pictures,
appeared with Edward Roseman in "Fan-
tomas."

Krazy. — I won't argue with a lady. So
you have organized a Lillian Gish Club and
want me to be the Honorary President.
With pleasure. I am sure that if you write
to Miss Gish at the Griffith studios in
Mamaroneck, N. Y., she will send you an
autographed photograph for your club-
room. She will probably be delighted with
the Club. I don't blame you a bit for liking
Lillian. I could almost organize a Club
about her myself.

Grace. — Maude George was the interest-
ing modiste in "The Devil's Pass-Key."
Eric von Stroheim directed, but did not
appear in this picture. He is in "Foolish
Wives," however. Priscilla Dean is 5 feet
0 inches tall and weighs 130 pounds. It's a
mystery to me what difference height and
weight makes; but I suppose you have your
reasons.

P. Stewart. — Some paintings would be
worth more to some people if the price were
painted across the top. As Zuleika Dobson
would say, "I don't know anything about
art, but I know what I like." Did you ever
read that classic of Max Beerbohm's,
"Zuleika Dobson?" It's one of Dorothy
Gish's favorite books, which proves Dor-
othy's good taste. J. Warren Kerrigan has
not been making many pictures during the
last few years, but there is a rumor that he
is forming his own company. Not a few
people will be glad to sec him. He is not
married.

Dorcas Lee. — Birds of a feather, I am
told, flock together, but I have yet to see
raven locks with crow's feet. Have you?
Monte Blue was born in 1800; William
Farnum in 1876; and D. W. Griffith in 1880.
Mr. Blue is married to a non-professional,
and Mr. Farnum to Olive White.

K. E. K., Philadelphia. — Paul Helleu's
portrait of Lillian Gish is a very lovely
thing. So far as I know it is in his "best
manner," but I wouldn't let that worry me,
if I were you. The point is that it looks like
Lillian, which is enough for me. Correan
Kirkham is not related to Kathleen Kirk-
ham. Marshall Neilan opposite Alary
Pickford in "Madame Butterfly."

Betty B., Frisco. — Constance Talmadge
has blonde hair, but Norma hasn't. Connie
was not in San Francisco during the month
of August, 1921 A. D. She was vacationing
in Canada. John Pialoglo is her husband.
Gloria Swanson has a beautiful shade of red-
dish-brown hair and blue eyes; Bebe
Daniels has black hair and eyes; and Viola
Dana has dark brown hair and light green
eyes. (Viola herself calls them green, so
don't blame me.)

Amelie. — Lovely! Right out of a novel!
If I ever write a book the heroine's name will
be Amelie, I promise you. That is, if I
don't forget all about it by the time I'm
ready to write. The chances are that you
will never be immortalized. Nazimova is
married to Charles Bryant, her manager
and sometime leading man. Alia was born
in 1879. William Boyd was the dancer in
"The City Sparrow" with Ethel Clayton.
Miss Clayton is one of my favorites, too.
She is a charming young woman of intelli-
gence and humor.

L. S., Detroit. — Reminiscent of the lit t le
girl who saw a peacock for the first time.
Startled, she said: "Oh, look — the chicken
is in bloom!"

Questions and Answers

(Continued)

y Bobbed Baby. — If the quaint and
hospitable remark, "Have a chair," were
taken seriously, how much furniture would
we have left? Well, I know I couldn't get
along without my swivel chair. It's a
rather new swivel chair and has a perfectly
charming squeak. Katherine MacDonald
is five feet eight inches tall; not married.
Gareth Hughes and Lloyd Hughes are not
related. Viola Dana is the widow of John
Collins. Alice Lake is not married.

M. G. K. — Here's the cast of "A Son of
Tarzan": Lord Greystoke — Dempsey Tab-
ler; Lady Greystoke — Karla Schramm; Jack,
age fifteen — Gordon Griffith; Jack, five years
later — Kamuela C. Searle; Little Meriem —
May Giraci; Meriem, grown-up — Manilla
Martan; Ivan Paidvitch — Eugene Burr; The
Sheik — Frank Morrell; Malbihn — Ray
Thompson.

Francis, Lareda, Mex. — Your letter
cheered me so. Your drinking my health
in whatever liquor you were drinking it,
makes my old heart glad, but did nothing
to quench my thirst. It was sweet of you
to think of me, even if it doesn't do me any
good, up here in this new Sahara, Manhat-
tan. Write again, just the same.

Bernardine, Brisbane, Australia. —
I get along pretty well, even if I haven 't a
country house and a car and a cook. In
fact, I'm downright glad I haven't a cook.
Some plutocratic friends of mine — that is,
they speak to me once in a while — have a
cook, and just can't keep her. After all,
there are compensations — and Childs'.

(Adv.) Eugene O'Brien in "Gilded Lies,
"The Last Door" and "Is Life Worth Liv-
ing?" Geraldine Farrar, Metropolitan
Opera House, N. Y. C.

Louis P., Vicksburg. — Francis X.
Bushman and Beverly Bayne are touring
the Keith circuit in a vaudeville sketch called
"A Poor Rich Man." Grace Cunard is
making two-reel westerns now. The
former Mrs. Harold Lockwood is now the
wife of "Spike" Robinson, who at one time
was lightweight champion of England and
who appeared in the Dempsey serial for
Pathe, "Daredevil Jack."

S. H. S., Sumter, S. C. — Reminds me of
the small boy who said that dreams were
motion pictures in one's sleep. I am so
sorry you thought I was a woman, and
therefore lost interest. I can 't help it that
you think I am a woman, but I can pro-
test. Don't you know that a woman could
never stand the strain of answering all
these questions? It 's a woman 's business to
ask them. But please write again, anyway.

A. R. S., Washington. — Good, old-fash-
ioned hero worship never hurt anybody. I
didn't mind your letter, because you were
so patently sincere. J. Frank Glendon, the
subject of your eulogies, was born in Cho-
teau, Montana. He lived in the west until
the age of twenty. He was educated at
Wesleyan University at Helena. He was on
the stage and made his film debut in 191-1.
As far as I know, he is not married.
(Continued on page 107)

Charlie's

New

Picture

WHEN you become so popular that the world knows
and calls you by your first name, then you know you
are famous. When we say Charlie, everybody knows
whom we mean. It's "Chariot" in France, and
other things in other languages; but the little man with the
brief moustache and huge shoes is universal. Our favorite
comedian — whom we generously share with the rest of the
world — has just finished a new film. Its title is "The Idle
Class", it is in three reels, and in it, Charlie essays two dis-
tinct characterizations: his own familiar and pathetic tramp,
and a member of the idle rich. Edna Purviance, above,
shares honors, as did Jackie Coogan in "The Kid."

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Jpfqys and Jp/ayers

rank Diem photo.

Two little girls from school. They are the cousins of Lillian and Dorothy Gish :
Ruth Cleaver, of Dayton, Ohio, aged sixteen; and Dorothy NIacConnell, seven-
teen, of MasSillon, the home-town of the Gishes. They came east to visit ana
Griffith engaged them for The Two Orphans, of which their celebrated cousins
are the stars. And when they finish their parts they are going right back to

school.

TWO men were luncning in the Algon-
quin the other day. One was a well-
known producer who was looking for a
leading woman for his new picture.
He glanced around the room and spied a
young girl sitting at a near-by table. She
was about sixteen, he thought.

"By George!" exclaimed the producer,
"look at that little girl over there. She's
just what I want: pretty, vivacious, intelli-
gent— Wonder if I could get her?"

His companion laughed. "Yes," he said,
"she would be wonderful. The only trouble
i< lh.it she makes more money that you do
and is too busy to bother. She's Anita
Loo-.''

The producer fainted.

JACK JOHNSON is going to do a picture.
It will be in five reels. Work has already
been started on it, according to report. The
theme is based on Jack's life in Europe.

Yes, it will be a comedy. They ought to
start a new distributing company to handle
this picture and the one made by Clara
Hamon of Oklahoma fame.

ALICE CALHOUN is probably the
youngest and shyest star in the busi-
ness. She's only eighteen and as charm-
ingly unsophisticated as some stars are
supposed to be.

Yitagraph wanted some new photographs
of her — good ones. So they made an ap-
pointment for her at the studio of a famous
Manhattan photographer, celebrated for
his striking studies. Alice went — with her
mother. The first blow came when the

photographer asked her mother to leave the
room and wait outside while he took the
pictures. The second when he instructed
Alice to pose in a kimono and a bunch of
flowers.

The pictures were never released.

IT looks as though that possible recon-
ciliation between Pauline Frederick and
her one-time consort, Willard Mack, was all
off— all off.

SrCH things as a character in Ingram's
picturization of Balzac's "Eugenie
Grandet," using a fountain pen; and the
landing of the Pilgrims, portrayed in
another picture, which shows a pile of rocks,
some marked by the holes of a pneumatic
drill, don't bother us particularly. What
difference does it make, so long as it is good
entertainment?

A GREAT deal has been said about the
realism of the German pictures. No
wonder. Listen to this:

In a Hamburg, Germany, film studio, a
fight was staged between a man and a bear.
The animal seriously injured the actor, who
was a well-known professional wrestler. He
had to climb a rope ladder, pursued by the
bear. Everything was all right until the
actor reached the top of the ladder. Then
the bear attacked him in earnest. After an
investigation, it was proved that the bear,
which was tame enough, had been deprived
of food for twenty-four hours before the
filming of the scene, to make him ferocious.
That is carrying realism a bit too far!

Real uews and interesting

comment about motion

pictures and motion

picture people.

By
CAL. YORK

ONE of the fastest rising stars in the film
firmament has very practical ideas on
how to get ahead. In fact, she could write
a book about it.

One of her first rules is, divorce your hus-
band. The second is, make yourself as un-
popular as possible with your fellow film
stars. The third is, lie very nice to the hus-
band of the film star who helped you to suc-
ceed. The fourth is, tell your former
friends that you can't afford to be seen with
anybody who can't do anything for you.

If you follow these rules you may be suc-
cessful. And then again, you may not.

JULIAN ELTINGE has been seriously ill
J in a Los Angeles Hospital for some
weeks. For several days physicians de-
spaired of pulling him through a difficult and
delayed operation for appendicitis, but he is
now reported entirely out of danger.

Probably the only photograph ever
taken of a screen celebrity playing ten-
nis. There have been many pictures
of stars in beautiful high-heeled shoes
and Lucile gowns posed somewhere
near a tennis net. But William de
Mille really plays; m fact, he partici-
pates in all the big matches on the we?t
coast.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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When you write to advertisers j Itase mention l'HOTOt'LAY MAGAZINE.

LADYDIANAMANNERS
likes it. Mrs. Margot
Asquith doesn't. Film act-
ing, I mean. Lady Diana
Duff-Cooper, to call her by
her correct name, is working
in pictures now, you know,
for J. Stuart Blackton. She
says, " I was never happier in
my life. I am enjoying every
minute of my time, both in
the studio and while at work
outdoors. But it is more dif-
ficult before the camera than
before an audience. This si-
lent acting takes every atom
of intelligence and dramatic
instinct that I have."

AH!

Margot says, "What a
dreadful life! Xot at any
price would I ever go through
the monotonous drudgery of
acting for the films."

Not at any price, Margot?

EXID BENNETT NIBLO
has arrived. She was
born at the Good Samaritan
Hospital, Los Angeles, and
looks like her lovely mother.

DUSTIN FARNUM has
come back. He has de-
cided that he can spare a little
time from his duties as Com-
modore of the Los Angeles
Yacht Club to be a star again
in films. He has joined the
Fox Company, for which his
brother Bill works.

Flays and rlayers

{Continued from page 76)

LATEST reports from Ger-
many say that Pola Negri
will make "A Doll's House,"
"Sappho," and one other
picture before beginning her
contract for the European
company in which Famous
Players- Lasky is interested.

By the way, you will see
the beautiful Continental in
a new First National feature,
called "One Arabian Night."
This was originally titled
"Sumurun," and it is said
that Pola's was not the stellar
part in it, but it has now been
edited so that she has the
usual number of scenes to
herself.

TAMES RENNIE, the
«* handsome husband of
Dorothy Gish, is appearing in
a new play by Edward Childs
Carpenter, called "Pot
Luck." In it Mr. Rennie
plays an engaging crook. By
the way, the much discussed
marriage has turned out an
entire success. In fact, there
is no more devoted couple in
filmdom than the former Miss
Gish and her erstwhile lead-
ing man.

[S Ex- President

When you used to see them together on the screen — in love
scenes like this — you never suspected that one fine day Lou
Tellegen would be suing Geraldine Farrar for separation

1 Wilson going into
tures? There is a rumor that

Woodrow
pic-

you? And yet that s exactly what has happened.

d.d

SAMUEL GOLDWYN has issued the
statement that the Goldwyn concern is
looking for "new Faces."

( roodness, so are lots of other people,
among them thousands of ladies just over
forty.

Seriously, Mr. Goldwyn in advocating the
cutting of the high cost of picture produc-
tion, is outlining a policy of discovering new
and consequently inexpensive talent, that
ought to interest all the young folks that
crave screen careers.

"We want new faces," says Mr. Goldwyn,
"the public wants new faces. We are open
to consider anyone who has good looks,
talent, and willingness to work hard."

DEAR, dear — Hollywood is having a
dreadful time trying to marry off
Charlie Chaplin again. Every time he
speaks to a girl, somebody gets out an extra.
One would imagine that Charlie was the sort
of man who couldn't exist unmarried for
more than a few days, whereas the fact is he
remained a bachelor longer than most men
in the first place and doesn't show any
marked inclination to dash to the altar
again now.

Charlie has taken a cunning house on the
top of one of the highest hills in Hollywood,
and there he entertains a good deal in a quiet
wax. He and Samuel Goldwyn are insep-
arable friends, and an occasional dinner will
see these two with Mr. and Mrs. Rupert
Hughes, Gouverneur Morris, May Allison,
Bebe Daniels, Claire Windsor, Marshall
Neilan and Blanche Sweet, Lila Lee and
Max Linder, enjoying everything from
theological discussions to "Micky's" ram-
blings on the piano.

WHEX you read that Universal was film-
ing " Fanny Herself," the Edna Ferber
story, you probably speculated as "to the
title Universal would use for the finished
product; but I doubt if, in your wildest
moment, you would have thought of "No
Woman Knows."

CHARLES CLARY, JR., arrived a few
weeks ago. He is just about the same
age as Enid Bennett Niblo.

DID you see "A Virgin Paradise?"
Alan Edwards plays the villain in it.
He is now being congratulated by all his
friends that he has lived to see the picture.
You remember the beating Pearl White
gives him. We have always wanted to see a
film heroine come right back at 'em.

WHILE sojourning in Hollywood,
Madame Elinor Glyn besides writing
original stories for the screen to be produced
as starring vehicle for Gloria Swanson, has
completed a new novel.

It is called "Renaissance" and Madame
Glyn declares it to be her best work — or at
least her work of most general appeal — since
"Three Weeks."

It deals with regeneration after the war,
and the hero is a young Englishman who
lost an eye and a leg on the battlefields of
France.

"Well," said Lila Lee, musingly, "That's
a great idea. But I can't see what good a
guy with one eye and one leg is going to be
as the hero of an Elinor Glyn novel."

IT is possible that following her contract
with Paramount, the famous English-
woman will have her own motion picture
organization.

If so, it will be an interesting experiment,
and I believe, a successful one.

Madame Glyn recently outlined her belief
something like this:

" I write my novels. They are tremen-
dously successful. People like them as they
are — as I have created them. I should like
just once to transfer those booksto the screen
exactly as I see them — exactly — and see if
the things I see and know and that make my
books so successful, wouldn't equally delight
people on the screen."

We hope she will have a chance to show
us what her theory is.

he wants to put the history
that he has played a part in
before the public via the
screen. He wants, to quote
the story, to make an answer to those whom
he feels have misrepresented him. D. W.
Griffith is named as the probable director.
He has been a friend of the former presi-
dent, who helped him in his plans for
"Hearts of the World," and who greatly
admired his "Birth of a Nation." It is not
known whether cr not Mr. Wilson will per-
sonally appear in the picture.

DID

!_• no

you know that there is a remote
possibility that Theda Bara will appear
in a picture directed by Griffith? The for-
mer vamp star has a great admiration for
D. W. and often comes out to watch him
work, so don't be surprised if you hear more
about it.

IT seems to us that nobody in Hollywood
has grown up the way Priscilla Dean has.
Only a little while ago, Priscilla was a
lively, pretty, care-free kid flying about
with her curls loose and a friendly grin on
her face.

Now — she's the same Priscilla, but her
work has developed and broadened her
until she is a woman of the world, poised,
fascinating and altogether a personage.

The head of one of the largest releasing
concerns in America — and, by the way, not
the concern for whom Priscilla works —
stated the other day that he considered
Priscilla Dean the screen's best feminine bet.

Well, somehow you always get a kick out
of Priscilla. And I do like her hats. She's
a very regular human being.

ELINOR GLYN in "Love." No, she is
not, really. That is, not that we have
heard. But she is going to get $2,500 a
week for talking on love for thirty minutes
in vaudeville. And then she is going to
make a picture called "Six Days." At this
rate, Elinor ought to be able to buy a new
tiger skin.

{Continued on page 80)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Suppose I had said,
No, I dorft play Auction"

HERE was the very man I had been trying to see
for a year; on the same train, for an eighteen-
hour journey, and a mutual friend right at hand
to introduce me. Here was the opportunity not only to
meet him but to see his real self revealed in a game of
cards; also to show him my own mental capacity and in-
cidentally my grasp of his business and certain require-
ments of that business which my concern was prepared
to fill. Suppose I had said, 'No I don't play Auction.' "

How often do similar opportunities present themselves
to you! Follow this suggestion —

Tlay cards for wholesome recreation

and you will find the accomplishment a continual help
in business and social life. Play cards often — you will
improve your mind and you will become the alert kind
of player that worth-while people like to play with.

Send for a copy of "The Official Rules of Card Games"
giving complete rules for 300 games and hints for better
playing. Check this and other books wanted on coupon.
Write name and address in margin below and mail with
required postage stamps to

The U. S. Playing Card Company, Dept. U-l, Cincinnati, U. S. A.
. Manufacturers of

BICYCLE

PLAYING CARDS

(Also Congress Playing Cards. Art Backs. Gold Edges.)

PARTNERS AND DEAL— 4 players. 2 against
2, using 2 packs. Remove jokers; shuffle one pack
and draw for partners. 2 lowest cards play 2 highest.
Lowest deals first. His partner shuffles the other
pack, and placesit at his right, ready fornextdeal.
Player on dealer's right cuts, and 1 3 cards are dealt
to each player, one at a time. If a misdeal, same
player deals again. Deal passes to left.

BIDDING — There are 5 bids: clubs lowest, then
diamonds, hearts, spades, no-trumps. Dealer must
bid at least "one" in a suit, or no-trump, or he may
p^ss. Each player in turn to the left may pass, or
bid the same numberin a higher suit, or more In a
lower suit. Highest bid allowed is seven. The
bidding goes round until three players in succession
pass.

DOUBLING— Any player may double oppo-
nents' bid, and either opponent may redouble or
bid something else. Only one redouble is allowed.
The double increases value of tricks and penalties
in scoring but not in bidding; 2 spades will overbid
2 hearts doubled.

THE PLAY— The declarer is the player v/ho first
named the winning suit. His partner is "dummy".
The one at the left of declarerleads any card ;then
dummy's cards are laid face up on table, sorted into
suits. Dummy takes no further part in play. Each
player must follow suit if he can, otherwise trump
or discard. Cards rank from A down to deuce, and
trumps always win. Highest card played wins the
trick; winner leads for next trick. First 6 tricks
taken by declarer are his "book." All over the book
count toward game. If declarer has bid 3 he must
win 3 over his book, or 9 tricks.

SCORING— Only the declarer's side can score
toward game. (Opponents score only honors and
penalties.) Declarer scores for each trick over his
book, 10 points at no-trumps, 9 at spades, 8 at
hearts, 7 at diamonds, or 6 at clubs. These trick
scores are all put "below theline" on score pad. 30
points is game, but all over 30 is scored. Draw a
line under a game won. Partners winning two
games ends the rubber.

HONORS AND PENALTIES— Besides scores
toward game, there are honor scores and penalties,
which go "above theline" on pad. Honors are A K
Q J 10 of the trump suit, or the 4 aces at no-trump.
Credit goes to original holders of these cards, on
either side. 3 between partners have the value of 2
tricks, so that 3 in spades would be worth 18; 4
honors same as 4 tricks; 5 honors same as5 tricks;
but 4 or 5 in one hand count double; and 4 in one
hand,5thin partner's are the same as 9 tricks. (In
spades, this would be 81 points.) At no-trumps, 3
aces count 30, 4 aCes 40, and 4 in one hand, 100.
For winning 12 tricks, add 50; for grand slam, 13
tricks, 100. For winning rubber, add 250. Ifcon-
tractis doubled, trick scores havea double value, or
quadruple if redoubled. Spades doubled count 18
a trick to declarer, if he makes his contract; if re-
doubled,36. He also gets SOin honorsforfulnlling
doubled contract, and 50 for each trick over con-
tract. If redoubled, this figure is 100. If he made
5 over book on contract to make 3. doubled, he
would score 5 times 18 below the line and 1 50 above,
plus honors.

PENALTIES— If declarer fails to make contract,
he scores only honors as held; the adversaries score
50 in honors for each trick he falls short; 100 if
doubled ; 200 i f redoubled. Penalty for a revoke by
declarer is 50 in honors. If his adversaries revoke,
he can take 50 points, or 2 of their tricks, which he
scores. The revoking side can score nothing but
honors as held.

At the end of a rubber, everything is added, and
lower score deducted from the higher; the difference
is the number of points won. The side having most
points technically wins rubber, regardless of which
side won two games. Cards are then cut for a new
rubber.

For full rules and hints on
bidding and play see "The
Official Rules of Card
Games" or "Six Popular
Games" offered below.

'""'The

U. S.

P)-^ <~Ar>r. y Playing

CARD > Card Co.

TRIOJ,"' Deptu-lCin-

,.;y rinnati.O.-Scnd

S postpaid books

checked below.

□ "Official Rules
of CardGames"
l/iY/NP-' 300 games. 250 pages. 20c.
infy'l — | "-'* Popular Games"

ft\ y I I Auction, Cribbaec, Pitch,

\Ss Fiveli ui, drill, Solitaire. rinochle. DC.
i,"> ^<xj^yy! — I "How to Entertain with Cards."

rfs>\<'</ I 1 Suggestions for parties and clubs. 6c.

y.kj-'i — I "Card Tricks." Mystifying tricks that

V^J | | can be done with a deck of cards. 6c.

^f^~\ "Fortune Telling with Playing Cards."

I I How to tell fortunes with a regular deck of

cards 6c.

"Card Stunts for Kiddies." Amusing and in-
tructivc kindergarten lessons. Not card games but
pasteboard stunts, using old cards as bits of board. 6c.
All 6 books 40c. Write Name and Address in margin below.

When you write to adtertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

{Continued from page 78)

HIGH SCHOOL

COURSE IN
TWO TEABS

You Want to Earn
Big Money!

And you will not be satisfied unless
you earn steady promotion. But are

Can You Qualify for
a Better Position?

American School of Correspondence

Dept. H-871 Chicago, U. S. A.

American. School of Correspondence,
Dept. H-871 Chicago, 111.

I want job checked — tell me how to get ic

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$5,000 to $15,000
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Photoplay Writer

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In one yea.

Here is the first aerial picture show! Imagine watching a movie on the screen
while flying through the clouds at ninety miles an hour! On board an eleven-
passenger hydroplane, which was sailing over Chicago, a Rothacker nlm was
shown. A screen was hung in the fore cabin of the aircraft; a small projection
machine was fastened firmly in position and connected with an electric light
socket — and the show was on! Like to try it sometime?

THE premier of "The Three Musketeers"
was the film affair of the month in Man-
hattan. The curious thing about it was
that two-thirds of the first-night audience
was made up of "fans" — real, honest-to-
goodness ones who had never seen Doug off
screen in their lives. They saw him that
night in person, for Fairbanks occupied a
box with his wife, Mary Pickford, his pal,
Charlie Chaplin, and Jack Dempsey. The
audience rooted for all four. Mary Pickford
herself was in white with a huge ermine cape,
her bright curls piled high on her aristo-
cratic little head. Charlie wore himself out
applauding. Poor Edward Knobloch, who
did all the research work, continuity, and
titles, not to mention the spoken prologue,
was in the stellar box; but nobody knew it;
or if they did, nobody seemed to care. But
Knobloch has written one of the most
wonderfully smooth scenarios ever for the
Dumas classic.

IN the audience: Betty Blythe, who
attracted almost as much attention in
her black lace gown and her vivid Spanish
shawl as Mary herself. Conrad Nagel, on a
flying visit east to see his mother, was
there, too; and he and Betty had a real
reunion. Conrad couldn't bring his beau-
tiful wife, Ruth Helms Nagel, or his beauti-
ful new baby with him, but he had their
pictures in his pocket. Anita Loos, wearing
a gold brocaded dress of the moyen age,
with a gold cap on her straight black bobbed
hair, was asking everyone if they didn't
think it was wonderful — the picture, of
course. John Emerson was in attendance,
and they stopped on their way to see Mary

and Doug, to speak to a demure little
blonde and a sedate looking business man.
They were Louise Huff and her husband.
Louise is one of the sweetest girls in pic-
tures. Norma Talmadge, in a tight-fitting
hat with a bird of paradise perched in
front, was with her mother, Mrs. Peg.
Harrison Ford, and a girl I think was Ann
Paulette, wife of Eugene Paulette, who
plays Aramis in the film.

CAROL DEMPSTER, in an ethereal
gown, her beautiful light brown hair
dressed like a school girl's, was pointed out
to many of the admiring laymen. Charles
Mack, the new Griffith find, was there; not
to mention Hiram Abrams, who has a
rather personal interest in "The Three Mus-
keteers," inasmuch as he is the president of
United Artists, the company which will re-
lease it; Hope Hampton, escorted by her
manager, Jules Brulatour; Mr. and Mrs.
Frank Case, manager of the Algonquin
Hotel, where Mary and Doug used to stop.

It was an exciting evening altogether.
The police were called to manage the
crowds. Doug made a little speech before,
in the middle of and after his picture. Mary
waved, but kept in the background. •

After this ovation, in the most blase city
in the world, which has never gone very far
out of its hard-boiled way to welcome
prince or president, no one can doubt that
the movies play an enormous part in the
life of the public; and that its monarchs can
enjoy and acclaim exceeding, in warmth and
sincerity, the applause accorded any other
celebrities in the history of the world.
{Continued on page 82)

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

" But for the present, I have this little studio, a really comfortable, pleasant place to wo;k,
and I'm averaging sixty to seventy-five dollars a -week-"

PRUDENCE POINTS HER PENCIL

By JEAN BAKER

"It's just like a room in a movie!" gasped
Betty, glancing about the little studio.
Prudence helped remove her coat and hat.
"I think that you will find it real enough
when you look more closely, dear. This is
the most comfortable chair."
Betty sank into it with a delicious feeling
of relaxation. It •was seldom that she had
opportunity to enjoy, the luxury of such
a restful atmosphere and after the straight
little chair at the office, this was a joy to her
tired body.

"We'll have a cup of tea — it's pleasanter
to gossip that way, don't you think?"
Prudence was getting out her blue cups
and the quaint Japanese tea pot. "When
did you see Bob last?"
"Months ago — not for ages," murmured
Betty with a slight catch in her voice.
"Why, Betty!" Prudence exclaimed.
" You were such friends ! "
"I know but one cannot go about without
pretty frocks and — "

"As if that made any difference!"
Prudence rebuked.

"Oh, it does, Prudence. You can't under-
stand because — because you have every-
thing you want. A file clerk can't buy
those things. There are too many girls
clamoring for such positions for anyone
to pay real money for that service."
"Then why not do something for which
real money will be paid?"
Betty signed. "You make it sound so
delightfully simple, you who plainly have
a fairy godmother to supply your every
need."

Prudence's laughter pealed merrily as she
wheeled out the tea cart. "Betty," she
said seriously, "I've worked for everything
you see here. I — pardon me, that's the
telephone. "

As Prudence took up the instrument,
Betty noted her smart little dress with the
stockings and pumps to match. Then she
saw her own worn coat, the rain marked
hat and the run-over heels of her shoes.
Again she glanced about the studio. The
stenciled crash curtains, lacquered furni-
ture, prints and plaques brought a rush of
pleasure to her. Then the visitor thought
of her dingy bed room with its bare walls
and cheap, severe furnishings. The sharp
contrast brought a sob to her throat.
"Yes, Mr. Thompson," Prudence was
saying over the phone. " I quite under-
stand what you want. How much? Well,
a poster such as that will be fifty dollars.

Yes, it will be ready Wednesday noon.
You will call for it? Thanks. Good
bye."

"Prudence! Whatever can you do in two
days that will be worth fifty dollars?"
"Oh, that's a poster for a sale at the Em-
porium. I do quite a bit of work for them."
"But you didn't go to art school!"
"No, I never got to go," Prudence said
cheerfully. "You remember that father
was going to send me to art school for three
years and than I was to have a year abroad.
But the war wrecked my plans and nearly
wrecked father's business. No, Betty,
everything that I've done has been with
my own money."

"But — but I don't understand."
"Well, I was going to study the theory of
art and visit famous galleries and travel
with never a thought to the practical side
of things. Then suddenly I found that
I had to earn my own way, that I had to
think only of the practical side. I went
to work in an office at fifteen dollars a week,
an office full of stale cigarette smoke and
trouble. I hated it, hated it because I
could not forget my plans. Perchance I
might be there yet had not a friend told
me of the opportunity to take my art
course in quite another manner."
"Some relative gave you the money?"
"Indeed not! I earned it myself."
"But you had only high school training."
"Preliminary training wasn't necessary.
This was a correspondence course con-
ducted by a school which was built up by
men who had been in the engraving and
illustrating business and who knew what
was wanted by the buyers of commercial
art. They knew, too, what was the most
practical method of teaching that to their
students. All they required from me was
my spare time, faithful effort and a reason-
able fee."

Betty leaned forward listening eagerly,
her tea untasted.

"You mean you studied after hours?"
she asked breathlessly.

"Exactly. That meant that I could take
the course while continuing my other
work. I managed to put aside enough
each month to pay my tuition. Oh, I
never could have attended art school with
my earnings in those days."
"Tell me more about it — about this
school."

"Well, as I said, this engraving company
had a wealth of experience and it is this

experience with actual conditions and
problems which they sell as the course.
They found that their own apprentices
could be developed into highly paid artists
so it was decided that other men and
women outside their studios could be helped
as well.

"There isn't a theoretical bit in the entire
course. It is built to meet practical prob-
lems and the lessons are such as the assign-
ments one would receive if working for
an advertising firm. The same with this
important difference, that a staff of ex-
perts instructs the student in the handling
of every detail of the work. So you see,
Betty, it's not at all surprising that many
students sell enough of their work to sup-
port themselves while taking the course.
"Tliis valuable experience while learning equips the
graduate to go into a commercial firm and command
a good salary from the start — he's already served I. is
apprenticeship. "

"And that's all the training you had?" demanded
Betty incredulously.

"Every bit. I mean to branch out when I have
completed the course. It has suggested so many
things that I can scarcely wait to try them out
But for the present. I have this little studio, a really
comfortable, pleasant place to work, and I'm averag-
ing sixty to seventy-five dollars a week."
"And I'm slaving in an uncomfortable office for a
quarter of that!" sighed Betty. "But we had the
same preliminary training — do you suppose I — "
"Certainly you could, dear. You have as much
native ability as I but it needs expert direction and
coaching. I know that you possess the will to suc-
ceed and — oh, Betty, when I think of what commer-
cial artists earn, it makes me dizzy! And I'm going
to be earning big money some of these days! Why,
Betty, styles in women's dress change each season
and someone has to make the new fashion plates!
Think of that!"

Again Betty glanced about the studio. "Prudence,
I'd give anything to have a comfortable place like
this to work. It would be play to work here."
"You can have it, Betty. It just means work and —
here, here's the name of the school. The Federal
School of Commercial Designing, Minneapolis,
Minnesota. Oh, Betty, do write them! They'll
send you a wonderful book called 'Your Future.' It
explains the course and will fill you with inspiration
and a determination to make the most of yourself."
"Will 1?" cried Betty joyously. "Watch me!"
"Well. I know that this pencil has pointed out the
pathway to success for a dear friend and — "
"I'd like to keep it myself." said Betty.

(This story is based on fact. If you, like Betty, are
eager to find a way out. the School will gladly mail
you free of charge a copy of " Your Future." Why
not send for it today.)

Federal School of Commercial Designing

307 Federal Schools Bldg., Minneapolis. Minn.

Please send me a copy of " Your Future," and explain

how many students earn more than the cost of the

course while studying.

Name .

Write your address plainly in the margin.

When you write, to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE,

Phc

Wy "*1I^H

S :J

. '■

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

{Continued from page 80)

The Pawn Ticket Clue

She was the one woman in all the world he
loved — and she was married to another man.
She was famous now, and rich — beyond all
hope of his attaining.

Yet, here in this obscure pawn shop, he
found a token — a clue that told him a
startling story.

Here is a man who knows that love is the
savior of souls — that it levels all ranks — that
rich and poor areasoneunderitsmagicspell—

RICHARD HARDING

DAVIS

(First Uniform Edition)

The sharp crack of a rifle — the soft-
ness of a woman's arm in the moon-
light, the swish of tropic waters
against the steamer's side — he has
got them all in his stories. This is the
man who said, "Romance is not
dead ! " This is the man who went to
Mexico, to Africa, to South America,
to England, to Japan — all over the
world searching for adventures and
romances, and he found them. No
other man ever knew so many kinds of
life when it is gavest, when it is fullest
of excitement, as RICHARD HARD-
ING DAVIS. When a man has seen
two wars, a Queen's Jubilee, an In-
aguration, and the Coronation of a
Czar — all in one year — he has some
thrilling stories to tell.

FREE — 4 Volumes
Booth Tarkington

Our foremost living American nov-
elist today is Booth Tarkington.
Every American sees himself as a boy
in "Penrod." The world cannot
grow tired of his entrancing story
"Monsieur Beaucaire."

Tarkington hears the very heart-
beats of the American people. He is
simple — direct — startlingly real. His
humor is the humor of the burlesque,
but of that finer, bigger kind — with a
deep, underlying purpose.

Booth Tarkington knows how to
write about love. Nowhere else can
you find romance so delightful — so
enthralling.

Because of his closeness to real
American life, Columbia Univer-
sity's $1,000 prize for the best novel
of 1918 went to Booth Tarkington
for "The Magnificent Ambersons."
This is a remarkable offer and it
cannot last long. No American
home can afford to be without Richard Harding
Davis and Booth Tarkington. Sign and mail the
coupon at once, and you will get one at low price —
the other free.

Charles Scribner's Sons, 597 Fifth Ave., New York
Send me, all charges prepaid, complete set of Richard
Harding Davis, in 12 volumes. Also send absolutely
FREE the set of Booth Tarkington in 4 volumes. If
these books are not satisfactory I will return both sets
within 10 days, at your expense. Otherwise I will send
you $1.00 at once and $2.00 a month for 13 months. For
cash, deduct 10%.

Name

Address

Occupation Photo — 11-21

You d never suspect that Lois Wilson was a him star. She hasn t any of trie
trimmings. And her sister, Constance, certainly would never give her away.
You wouldn t mind seeing Constance in pictures, would you? Neither would we.

JOE PAMETTI lives near a moving pic-
ture studio. He never thought much
about it. But the other day the casting
director of the Mae Murray company
needed a little boy about Joe's age for a part
in Miss Murray's new picture. He went out
to find one and stumbled over Joe. "Well,
sonny," said the casting director, "how'd
you like to play in a picture?" "No," said
Joe. "A movie — you know — with Mae
Murray." "No." "There's money in it —
five dollars," coaxed the casting director, who
saw in the scrubby little boy the makings of
an actor. "No," reiterated Joe indiffer-
ently. "Why not?" The usually genial
studio gentleman was a little irritated at the
persistent refusal. "I want a nickel," re-
plied Joe stolidly. A shining nickel gleamed
in the casting director's hand, and, fasci-
nated, Joe followed him into the studio. For
a week's work little Joe Pametti received al-
most $100; but the nickel was all that
mattered.

DOROTHY DAVEX PORT— Mrs. Wal-
lace Reid — is returning to the screen
after an absence of over four years, as lead-
ing woman in a western comedy-drama
starring Lester Cuneo.

It is interesting to remember that at the
time she married Wally, Miss Davenport
was one of the most popular stars on the
screen, while Mr. Reid was only a good look-
ing young leading man. In fact, Dorothy
Reid sometimes tells with a giggle that the
first time she ever saw Wallace, they
brought him on the set to play a leading role
in one of her pictures, and she didn't think
he was good enough.

Mrs. Reid retired from the screen before
the birth of young William Wallace, Jr.—
now four years old. She is taking up her
career again, so she says, because she's tired
of having nothing to do. She comes of one
of the most famous theatrical families in

America — is a niece of Fanny Davenport —
and the call of the grease paint has been
heard again.

DIRECTORS nowadays have to be
pretty careful what kind of stories they
use. Have you ever thought what censor-
ship means to the producer? He has to
avoid most of the subjects that go to make
good drama and he is hard put to it to find
plots innocuous enough to please the ladies
and gentlemen who sit in judgment.

Hugo Ballin, one of our most imaginative
and deep-thinking directors, wants to know
why the censor board cannot pass upon a
continuity instead of a finished product, so
that the producer will not waste his time
and money on a subject which would not
get by the board, anyway. That seems to
us a sensible suggestion. How about it?

LOS ANGELES policemen are out of
luck. They have been forbidden by the
city's police chief to play in any more motion
pictures. They were always able to pick up
a little extra money by impersonating them-
selves. Now, they will have to get along
without it. Too bad!

CONSTANCE BINNEY has gone to the
coast. If there is one thing Constance
Binney disliked to do more than another, it
is said, it was going to the coast. She has a
home in New York and a mother and a sister
and has never worked in California and did
not want to. But the Long Island studio of
Paramount has closed and there is no place
for Constance to work in the east. Having
refused to sign a new stage contract so as to
be able to devote all of her time to pictures,
she had to do it. Faire Binney has made
quite a hit in the new stage play, "The
Teaser."

{Continued on page 84)

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

We sold her first story to Thomas H. Ince

Yet Elizabeth Thatcher never
dreamed she could write for the screen
until ire tested her story telling ability.
Will t/ou send for the same test —
FREE?

Elizabeth Thatcher is a Montana
housewife. So far as she could see
there was nothing that made her dif-
ferent from thousands of other house-
wives.

But she wrote a successful photo-
play. And Thomas H. Ince, the great
producer, was glad to buy it — the first
she ever tried to write.

'"I had never tried to write for
publication or the screen," she said in
a letter to the Palmer Photoplay Cor-
poration. " In fact, I had no desire to
write until I saw your advertisement."

This is what caught her eye in the
advertisement :

" Anyone with imagination
and good story ideas can
learn to write Photoplays"

She clipped a coupon like the one at
the bottom of this page, and received
a remarkable questionnaire. Through
this test, she indicated that she
possessed natural story -telling ability,
and proved herself acceptable for the
training course of the Palmer Photo-
play Corporation.

And Thomas H. Ince bought
her first attempt

Only a few weeks after her enrollment, we sold
Mrs. Thatcher's first story to Mr. Ince. With
Mr. Ince's check in her hands, Mrs. Thatcher
wrote:

" / feel that such success as I have had is

directly due to the Palmer Course and your

constructive help."

Can you do what Mrs. Thatcher did? Can
you, too, write a photoplay that we can sell?
Offhand you will be inclined to answer No.
But the question is too important to be
answered offhand. Will you be fair to your-

self? Will you make in your own home the
simple test of creative imagination and story-
telling ability which revealed Mrs. Thatcher's
unsuspected talent to her?

Send for the Van Loan
questionnaire

The test is a questionnaire prepared by H. H.
Van Loan, the celebrated photoplaywright,
and Prof. Malcolm MacLean, former teacher
of short -story writing at Northwestern Univer-
sity. If you have any story-telling instinct at
all, send for this questionnaire and find out for
yourself just how much talent you have.

We will be frank with you. The Palmer
Photoplay Corporation exists first of all to sell
photoplays. It trains photoplay writers in
order that it may have more photoplays to sell.

With the active aid and encouragement of
the leading producers, the Corporation is lit-
erally combing the country for new screen
writers. Its Department of Education was
organized to produce the writers wrho can pro-
duce the stories. The Palmer institution is the
industry's accredited agent for getting the
stories without which production of motion
pictures cannot go on. There is a critical
shortage of photoplays. Producers pay from
$500 to $2,000 for stories.

Not for " born writers," but
for story-tellers

The acquired art of fine writing cannot be
transferred to the screen. The same producer

who bought Mrs. Thatcher's first story has
rejected the work of scores of famous novelists
and magazine writers. They lacked the kind
of talent suited for screen expression. Mrs.
Thatcher, and hundreds of others who are not
professional writers, have that gift.

The Palmer Photoplay Corporation cannot
endow you with such a gift. But we can dis-
cover it, if it exists. And we can teach you
how to employ it for your lasting enjoyment
and profit.

We invite you to apply this
free test

Clip the coupon below, and we will send you
the Van Loan questionnaire. You will assume
no obligation. If you pass the test, we will
send you interesting material descriptive of
the Palmer course and Service, and admit you
to enrollment, should you choose to develop
your talent. If you cannot pass this test, we
will frankly advise you to give up the idea of
writing for the screen. It will be a waste of
their time and ours for children to apply.

Will you give this questionnaire a little of
your time? It may mean fame and fortune to
you. In any event, it will satisfy you as to
whether or not you should attempt to enter
this fascinating and highly profitable field.
Just use the coupon below and do it now before
you forget.

Advisory Council

Thomas H. Ince
T h o s . H . Ince
Studios.

Cecil B. De Mille
Director General
Famous Players-
Lasky Corp.

Lois Weber

Lois Weber Produc-
tions, Inc.

Jesse L. Lasky
Vice- President
Famous Players-
Lasky Corp.

C. Gardner Sulli-
van. Author and
Producer.

Frank E. Woods
Chief Supervising
Director Famous
Players- Lasky
Corp.

James R. Quirk
Editor and Pub-
lisher Photoplay
Magazine.

Allan Dwan

Allan Dwan Pro-
ductions.

Kob Wagner

Author and Screen
Authority.

With the questionnaire we will
send you a free sample copy of
ThePhotodramatist, official organ
of the Screen Writers' Guild of
the Author's League, the photo-
playwright's magazine.

PALMER PHOTOPLAY Corporation, Dept. of Education, P. 11

124 West 4th St., LOS ANGELES, CAL.

Please send me. withouUcost
or obligation on my part, your
questionnaire. I will answer
the questions in it and return
it to you for analysis. If I
pass the test. I am to receive
further information about
your Course and Service.
Also send free sample copy of
the Photodramatist.

Name

Address

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

»4

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

lyw^^^vw^www^vwbwwwwfr

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her without any of the unpleasant
labor of clipping out of water, scrub-
bing and scouring. Sprinkle a little
Sani-Flush in your closet bowl ac-
cording to the directions on the can.
Flush. All the rust stains, markings
and incrustations will disappear,
leaving the bowl and hidden trap
sparklingly white and so clean after
Sani-Flush has been used that disin-
fectants are unnecessary.

Sani-Flush is sold at
grocery, drug, hardware,
plumbing, and house-
furnishing stores. If you
cannot buy it locally at
once, send 25c in coin or
stamps for a full sized
can postpaid. (Canadian
price, 35c ; foreign
price, 50c.)

The Hygienic Products Co.

Canton, O.

Canadian Agents:

Harold F. Ritchie & Co., Ltd., Toronto

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Bead Your
Eyelashes

No woman is
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than her eyes.
Givetn your eyes
the fascinating
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aance. Poirier Eyelash
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Poirier Eyelash Creme
ie perfumed and grease-
lees. Will not smart or burn the eyes or smear.
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one Poirier Eyelash Beader, handsomely silver
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Full instructions. Mention color of hair.

Money refunded if not satisfied.

POIRIER BEAUTY SPECIALTY CO.

113 Fountain Bldg., Fountain Court, Cleveland, O.

Plays and Players

(Continued from page 82)

Puzzle: find Wesley Barry. We might as well tell you that he is the cowboy
chap, while the other fellow is his double. Timothy Callaghan. of Riverside, Cal.
Timothy has almost as many freckles as Wesley, so he decided he d be a
"movie too, and left home to visit Marshall Neilan s famous kid star. But
his ma and pa had other ideas.

RUTH JENNINGS BRYAN is the
daughter of William Jennings Bryan.
But don't hold that against her. She is a
moving picture director, having produced
one feature, and intending to make more.
It is said that her father is to be the central
figure in one of the future films. He wants
to do a reformation subject. Won't that
tickle the censors to death?

MAE MARSH is rehearsing for her debut
on the spoken stage. Her play is
called "Brittie," and she is said to have a
part in it that gives her quaint personality
ample opportunity to endear itself to Broad-
way audiences. As a friend of hers said the
other day, "Even if the play isn't especially
good, Mae is bound to be a success. She
has always been a lucky girl."

Every advertisement in l'HOTOI'LAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)

MAY ALLISON entertained some of the
most popular kiddies "of the screen
social world at a birthday party for her
small niece, Zetta May Morgan, of Birming-
ham, Alabama, who has been visiting her
famous aunt at her home in Beverly Hills.

The gardens of the Allison home were
paily decorated and the youngsters played
outdoors all afternoon.

Among those present, as my friend the
society editor says, were Mary Pickford II,
William Wallace Reid, Jr., Marshall Xeilan,
Jr., Mary Johanna Desmond, daughter ol
Mr. and Mrs. William Desmond, Guy Ed-
ward Price, son of Guy Price of the Los
Angeles Herald, and Elaine and [van St.
Johns, Jr.

Which would you rather do: have your
name on a Marshall Neilan picture as
its scenario writer, or in the society
columns of a Pasadena, California,
newspaper? That s what Lucita

Squier thought, too; and now, after
studying motion picture technique for
two years, she has written the script
lor Neilan s newest drama. Bits of
Life."

UNIVERSAL has paid §100,000 for the
Central Theater on Broadway, Man-
hattan, for a period of one year. In cash.
They are going to show "Foolish Wives,"
the picture that Eric Von Stroheim spent
more than 81,000,000 on.

CECIL DE MILLE has been hunting
bears — real, live bears, in hitherto unex-
plored, mountain fastnesses of northern
California.

I suppose he took a gun.

If not, he can turn that deadly, directorial
gaze of his on them and it will do just as
well.

It has stopped just as dangerous critters
before now — if Mr. Kipling is right that the
"female of the (star) species is more deadly
than the male."

Another
Mystery Cake

Can you name it ?

THE first Royal Mystery Cake Contest created
a countrywide sensation. Here is another
cake even more wonderful. "Who can give it a
name that will do justice to its unusual qualities ?

This cake can be made just right only with Royal
Baking Powder. Will you make it and name it ?

$500 For The Best Names

For the name selected as best, we will pay $250. For the
second, third, fourth and fifth choice, we will pay $100, $75,
$50 and $25 respectively. Anyone may enter the contest,
but only one name from each person will be considered.

All names must be received by December 15th. In case of
ties, the full amount of the prize will be given to each
tying contestant. Do not send your cake. Simply send the
name you suggest, with your own name and address, to the

ROYAL BAKING POWDER COMPANY

144 WILLIAM STREET NEW YORK

HOW TO MAKE IT

Use level measurements for all materials
V2 cup shortening 4 teaspoons Royal

1}S cups sugar Baking Powder

Grated rind of ; j orange 1 cup milk
1 egg and 1 yolk 1>2 squares (1 >L> oz.) of

2 H cups flour unsweetened ehoc-
'i teaspoon salt olate (melted)

Cream shortening, add sugar and grated orange
rind. Add beaten egg yolks. Sift together flour,
salt and Royal Baking Powder and add alternately
with milk; lastly fold in beaten egg white. Divide
batter into two parts. To one part add the choco-
late. Put by tablespoonfuls, alternating dark and
light batter, into three greased layer cake pans.
Bake in moderate oven 20 minutes.

FILLING AND ICING

3 tablespoons melted butter 1 egg white

3 cups confectioner's sugar 3 squares (3 ozs.) un-
2 tablespoons orange juice sweetened chocolate

Grate rind of ' .. orange and pulp of 1 orange
Put butter, sugar, orange juice and rind into bowl.
Cut pulp from orange, removing skin and seeds, and
add. Beat all together until smooth. Fold in beaten
egg white. Spread this icing on layer used for top of
cake. While icing is soft, sprinkle with unsweetened
chocolate shaved in fine pieces with sharp knife (use
! _> square! . To remaining icing add 2 ' -, squares un-
sweetened chocolate which has been melted. Spread
this thickly between layers and on sides of cake.

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine-

Another
$50 Raise!

"Why, that's the
third increase I've
had in a year ! It just
shows what special
training will do for

a man

Every mail brings let-
ters from some of the two
million students of the
International Corre-
spondence Schools, telling
of advancements and in-
creased salaries won
through spare time study.

How much longer are
you going to wait before
taking the step that is
bound to bring you more
money? Isn't it better to
start now than to wait for
years and then realize
what the delay has cost
you?

One hour after supper each
night spent with the I. C. S.
in the quiet of your own home
will prepare you for the posi-
tion you want in the work
you like best.

Yes, it will ! Put it up to
us to prove it. Without cost,
without obligation, just mark
and mail this coupon.

— — ^— — — — TCAR OUT HERE —

INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS
BOX 65 48 8CBANTON, PA.

Without cost or obligation, please explain bow I can
qualify for the position, or in the subject before which
I have marked an X in the list below: —

DELEC. ENGINEER

□ Electric Lighting & Bys.

□ Electric Wiring

□ Telegraph Engineer
D Telephone Work

□ MECHANICAL ENGB.
D Mechanical Draftsman
D Machine Shop Practice

□ Toolmaker

D Gas Engine Operating
D CIVIL ENGINEER

□ Surveying and Mapping

□ MINE FOR'N or ENGR.
O STATIONARY ENGR.

□ Marine Engineer

□ ARCHITECT

□ Contractor and Builder

□ Architectural Draftsman
O Concrete Builder

O Structural Engineer

□ PLUMBING & HEAT'G

□ Sheet Metal Worker
D Text. Overseer or Supt.
O CHEMIST

□ Pharmacy

□ BUSINESS MANAG'M'T
Q SALESMANSHIP

□ ADVERTISING
D Railroad Positions

□ ILLUSTRATING

a Show Card & Sign Ptg.

□ Cartooning

Q Private Secretary

D Business Correspondent

D BOOKKEEPER

Q Stenographer & Typist

O Cert. Pub. Accountant

□ TRAFFIC MANAGER

□ Railway Accountant

□ Commercial Law
D GOOD ENGLISH

Q Com. School Subjects
D CIVIL SERVICE
D AUTOMOBILES
D Railway Mail Clerk
G Mathematics
Q Navigation
[J Agriculture

□ Poultry □ Spanish
Q Banking I n Teacher

Name-

Street
and No.

City.

Occupation .

-Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)

MONTE BLUE is mighty popular.
Everybody likes him. He is working
with Griffith now, in the cast of "The Two
Orphans."

Monte appeared in several Paramount
pictures in which he was prominently fea-
tured. Then Paramount let him go. I hope
Griffith will keep him under contract; he is a
good actor and a charming gentleman.

WILLIAM T. TILDEN, 2nd, the world's
singles tennis champion, wrote in a re-
cent article called "Tennis Hits Its Stride,"
published in "The Open Road," a para-
graph about the movies. He said:

"The movies are my favorite form of
amusement to avoid staleness. Charlie
Chaplin has pulled many a match out of the
fire for me. Norma Talmadge, Bill Hart,
Mary Pickford and Dick Barthelmess as
regular diet suit my taste. Unfortunately
one must be careful not to frequent the
movies too regularly owing to the eye strain
caused by the flicker of the lights. It is not
a wise thing to attend the movies the night
before a big match, and it is folly to go the
day you play, for you find your eyes will
carry the motion of the flicker for some
hours after."

THERE has been no orchestral accom-
paniment to pictures in the New York
theaters.

The musicians are on strike.

The organ, the piano, an occasional violin,
and a chorus of voices take their place.
Or try to.

But this omission of real music only goes
to show what a tremendous part music plays
in the presentation of pictures. Two photo-
plays projected in Broadway houses during
the strike suffered particularly. They were
"Experience" and "A Virgin Paradise."
These fairly cried for musical interpreta-
tion. There wasn't any, and it is almost a
certainty that these pictures have not made
the success they might have made.

CONRAD NAGEL, leading man for both
the deMilles in recent productions, is
an usher in one of the large Hollywood
churches.

Apparently all the movies don't spend
their time breaking the "Blue Laws."

LILA LEE lives in a pretty, old-fashioned
house that faces directly upon Western
Avenue, one of the main automobile cross
streets between Hollywood and Los Angeles.

The front of the house on the second
story has two sets of large lattice windows
that swing outward, consequently without
screens.

The other morning about dawn a young
millionaire of the Los Angeles smart set who
likewise is well known in film circles was
going homeward after an all night session
with Dame Fortune, who had failed to
smile.

The young man, being an ardent admirer
of Lila's, naturally glanced up at her house
as his roadster sped by.

He slowed down.

The shade of one of the bedroom windows
was up. The curtains were blowing in the
breeze. The foot of a dainty, ivory bed
could be seen beyond the window side.

In the bed, peeping from beneath the lacy
coverlet, was a set of the cutest little bare
pink toes ever seen.

The young man began to believe that life
was not all dust and ashes. He decided the
night wasn't wasted. He stopped the
chauffeur, descended, plucked a long feath-
erly branch from a eucalyptus tree and

with a smile, tiptoed beneath the window
and — tickled the little bare toes.

An instant later there was an awful
shriek, and Lila's small nephew's irate and
vengeful countenance appeared in the
opening.

An outburst of youthful and boyish fury
began to pour forth, from Juliet's supposed
trellis, but the young man had fled incon-
tinently, with renewed conviction that
when luck's against you, it's against you,
that's all.

THE only released film starring Enrico
Caruso, called "My Cousin," was re-
vived shortly after the great tenor's death
and shown on Broadway. At first it was
thought that this was a mere money grab-
bing stunt, but the crowds that went to see
it proved that it was really a splendid
tribute to the dead singer.

REMEMBER Florence Turner? If you
do, you don't have to be told that the
once famous American film star went to
England some years ago to make pictures
there. She had not been heard from for
sometime until a newspaper cable reported
that she had been robbed of money and
jewels valued at about $5,000. It seems
that she made an arrangement with a repre-
sentative of a firm of house agents to inspect
apartments at Hampstead. According to
her story, the man suddenly attacked her,
bound and gagged her, and having taken
her valuables, left her alone on Hampstead
Heath. It would make a good scenario.

WE didn't count the candles on the birth-
day cake, so we don't know which
birthday it was, but we do know that
Wanda Hawley had A birthday this month,
because that nice young husband of hers,
Burton Hawley, gave a birthday party for
her at the Hollywood Country Club.

Yes, Wanda is really Mrs. Hawley, but
her husband isn't "in the profession" — he's
an automobile man, and owns a lot of gar-
ages or something.

OF course there isn't any reason whya star
shouldn't ride in a "flivver." None in
the world.

You just don't expect to see 'em, that's
all.

That's why it gave me such a jolt when I
saw Viola Dana, all dressed up, too, occupy-
ing the front seat of a regular tin lizzie the
other day.

A very handsome young army officer, in
full uniform, was piloting said bus, and Vi —
in one of those close fitting, childish ging-
hams of hers and a big pink hat with roses
on it — sat beside him, as proud as could be,
with a regular full sized smile on her face.

She looked just as contented as she
usually does in her blue special built
Cadillac limousine, with its velvet uphol-
stery, too.

DORIS MAY was talking to her husband,
Wallace MacDonald, over the tele-
phone.

When she turned away, she remarked,
"Well, Wally has rented a new house for us,
but he says I can't see it until he has the
new wallpaper on."

That's the kind of a husband to have. I
always knew Doris was going to be the most
hen-pecked wife in pictures. Imagine a man
that would rent a house and then select
wallpaper without asking his wife.

And Doris seems so pleased about it.
Maybe men are coming into their own after
all.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)

■ Mr,

TM.3 Vv
<•

""*# ■**■«<.

Mildred and trie peacock. Miss Harris
had to study the gorgeous bird because
her part in a recent Cecil deMille pic-
ture required that she emulate its van-
ity. Some people said this wasn t so
hard for Mildred to do. But the same
people have to admit that Miss Harris
has startled everyone with her beauty
and talent in her newest rums.

MRS. RUPERT HTGHES tells the fol-
lowing on her famous husband and the
equally famous English author, Sir Gilbert
Parker.

Mr. Hughes and Sir Gilbert spent the
afternoon together recently. Both are men
of deep culture and a wide range of interests
and they discussed, after their own fashion,
every subject on earth, from Parlimentary
Law to tuna fishing at Catalina.

According to Mrs. Hughes, "Rup"
would talk a while — say half an hour or so,
and Sir Gilbert would listen with deep and
courteous attention.

Then Sir Gilbert would talk a while —
covering an equal space of time, and receiv-
ing the same polite treatment.

At the end of the afternoon, in bidding
each other good-by, Sir Gilbert said, "My
dear fellow, I've enjoyed my talk this after-
noon, extremely, extremely."

"Well, my dear Sir Gilbert," said Mr.
Hughes, "and I have enjoyed mine."

Again, a very pretty young motion pic-
ture actress who had appeared in one of Mr.
Hughes' pictures, was talking with the son
of the house — a Princeton student, now
working vacation time in his father's latest
production. Mr. Hughes junior had del-
icately warned the girl that his father was
just a bit hard of hearing, particularly when
he was interested in something, and that it
was a good idea if you wanted him to pay
any attention to you, to speak right up.

"All right," said the actress, "Ell shout
all my yeses."

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There is a delight hitherto unrealized in the
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(Continued)

Underwood & Cnc

Charlie, Mary and Doug: the great triumvirate of the films. Mary and Douglas
Fairbanks came east to he present at the opening of Doug s latest and greatest
picture, "The Three Musketeers; Charles Chaplin, to sail for Europe. These
United Artists are friends as well as business associates. Mary looks more like a
little girl than ever, doesn t she? Chaplin, as usual, looks like an extremely
youthful bank president on a holiday, like most anything in fact, but our favorite

comedian.

PLEASE don't try to-guess this one.
Anyway, it's only fair in speaking of
Hollywood in summer to mention Billy
Camp's in passing. Because Billy Camp has
the "elegantest" swimming pool in Holly-
wood. Almost any afternoon, one can find a
score of film favorites floating about.

But—

The other day a pretty young married
woman went out there for a dive.

It was very hot.

As she tripped along the side of the lovely
pool, she saw a sweet young thing, in bath-
ing costume, sitting on the spring board,
gazing at the water with so melancholy an
expression that it seemed almost suicidal.

Said the pretty young wife, "Why all the
gloom?"

Said the pretty girl, who had never seen
her before but was a friendly creature, "Oh,
I'm sad. My sweetie's gone to New York."

Said the young wife, "Well, never mind,
so has mine."

But, unfortunately, it turned out to be
the same one.

However, we haven't heard yet that they
are dragging the Camp pool for the corpse.

SPEAKING of Gloria Swanson's nose —
Youweren't? Well, so manypeopledo.

Anyway, that beautiful nose of Gloria's
that always photographs so marvelously
and adds that unusual and piquant touch to
her striking beauty — that's the nose we
mean.

There's story connected with it.

It almost wasn't.

Some time ago, when Miss Swanson first
began to.appear for Mr. Cecil deMille, they
decided that Gloria's nose was just a trifle
too long — just a shade too curved for per-
fect beauty.

So they decided on an operation — you
know how they fix those things nowadays.
A slash — a couple of stitches and there you
are.

It was all almost arranged, when Gloria
decided she didn't want her nose cut off.

Isn't that good? Imagine Gloria without
her nose — any of it.

A DRASTIC step, and one that may
prove a bitter blow to a certain class of
film fans, has been taken this month by a
large number of motion picture stars, follow-
ing in the footsteps of Mary Pickford.

These stars have decided that there are,
so far as they are concerned, to be no more
free fan pictures ofthemselves, for the mere
writing of a postal and a one cent stamp.

Declaring that the cost of fan pictures has
become a gigantic item, and one in which it
is impossible to control large wastage and
uselessness, these stars have banded to-
gether to follow Miss Pickford's system —
that of charging a small price for the pic-
tures and turning over everything above
actual cost to some worthy charity.

It is estimated that over a million dollars
was spent last year by stars and studios for
fan pictures alone.

May Allison showed me actual figures to
prove that her fan picture distribution last
year cost her over $20,000.

The movement now started, is to concen-
trate all fan pictures, of whatever company
or star, under one organization, which can
systematize the distribution, charge a small
price to prevent duplication and waste and
likewise earn a good sum for charity.

These include Wallace Reid, Thomas
Meighan, Wanda Hawley, Bebe Daniels,
May Allison, Lila Lee, Elliot Dexter and
Roscoe Arbuckle, and others unannounced.

CLARA WHIPPLE YOUNG has filed
suit for divorce in the California courts
against James Young, the director — and
formerly the husband of Clara Kimball
Young.

The grounds are various, and the action is
not a surprise to their friends nor to the
public as matrimonial difficulties in that
quarter have been rumored for some time.
The couple have been married for years.

The story is interesting in view of the
fact that many intimate friends of both
"Jimmie" Young and his first wife, the
famous Clara Kimball Young, insist that
the whole trouble began with their original
separation.

Clara Kimball Young has not married
again.

Jimmie's second venture has ended in the
divorce courts.

"Jimmie Young loved Clara Kimball and
still does — -and she will never care for any-
one else. It's just one of those unhappy
things where circumstances drove two peo-
ple apart. But they've never been happy
since, "said a very old friend of both the
other day.

Maybe so, maybe not.

But such things do happen.

POOR little Bebe.
Just because of those big eyes of hers,
and that pouting mouth, and the way she
looks in an octopus gown, she can't even
walk up the ocean front at Santa Monica
with a harmless young man like Jack Demp-
sey without everybody beginning to couple
their names.

A Los Angeles paper went so far as to
print an announcement of their engage-
ment the other day, but MissDanielsdenied
it absolutely, and so did several other rich
and attractive young men.

They declared Bebe certainly wasn't en-
gaged to Jack Dempsey.

As a matter of fact, she isn't.

She and the World's Champion have been
friends — but that's all.

Bebe doesn't intend to get married.
(Continued on page 92)

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VAMPS OF ALL TIMES

As seen when a modern spotlight is
turned upon ancient legends.

By
SVETEZAR TONJOROFF

ISIS enjoys the distinction of being a self-
made goddess. Born of poor but emi-
nently honest parents on a farm up the
Nile, the Egyptian Aphrodite at a
tender age developed an astonishingly precocious intelligence.
She learned to read and write hieroglyphics in a month. As a
little girl with blond pigtails down her back — for she appears
to have been very much lighter in complexion than the average
Egyptian — she showed a strange passion for the solution of
Chinese puzzles. The skill she acquired in this form of self-
discipline was destined to be of the greatest use to her in a
heart-crisis, when she had grown into a woman.

In her early teens,
little Isis began to en-
tertain glittering
dreams of becoming a
goddess. In a papy-
rus roll accidentally
dropped by a Phoeni-
cian archaeologist, she
discovered the legend
that the only way any
girl could become a
goddess was by find-
ing out and learning
by heart the real name
of the Sun-God Ra,
the Egyptian All-
Father. The name
was so complicated
that Ra himself could
pronounce it with
difficulty. So he had
edited it down to
plain "Ra."

Having decided
what was to be done,
all that remained for
Isis was to find a way
o f d o i n g it. The
means she employed
have been the subject
of animated wrang-
ling in Egyptian the-
ology ever since.

Isis at first tried to
involve Ra in a flirta-
tion. This was the
vamping period in her
career. For many
hours at a time, as
the afternoon began
to wear away, she
would sit on t lie bank
of the Nile near her
father's zareba, or

homestead, watching Ra as he sailed over the sky in his famous
motor yacht, the "Millions of Years," toward the gap that
led into Tuat, or the Night.

With what girlish eagerness she hoped and wished that the
Sun-God would glance her way, take a liking to her and give
her an opportunity to find out in the regular way what his
name was. Occasionally — very occasionally — she would even
wave a carefully manicured hand at him in an unmaidenly
effort to attract his attention. After several years of watchful
waiting, however, she reached the conclusion that Ra was too
hard-boiled for such a transaction.

So she decided to adopt a more direct method of attack.

V-ISIS

It became common gossip after the fact,
among the priestesses in her temples, that
after having studied magic under the besl
masters for a half dozen years, she made a
serpent of clay, brought this serpent to life by her incantations,
and placed it across the path over which the unsuspecting Ra
was wont to pass every evening after sunset on his way from
the pilot-house of the "Millions of Years" to his home for late
dinner.

The priestesses relate that the snake lost no time in biting
the Sun-God in the foot, and that in the absence of an antidote,
due to the temporary enforcement of a prohibition law, the
old man was well on his way to dissolu-
tion when Isis appeared and offered to
cure him — on one condition. That
condition was that he tell his real name.
"Do you think you could understand
and pronounce a name so awful and so
pregnant with power that the other
gods recoil in fear from hearing it?" he
warned her between groans.

"Just try me — or keep on groaning,"
she replied boldly.

Ra had only one choice in the em-
barrassing situation. As the poison
had not been administered by one of his
own creatures, it lay beyond his power
to cope with its effects. So, bowing to
the inevitable, he hobbled
into a private room with
Isis, disclosed his real
name in hollow whispers
to her alone — and she was
installed forthwith as a
full-fledged Egyptian god-
dess.

This version of the at-
tainment of Isis's greatest
ambition has been modi-
fied in several important
details by the latest dis-
coveries by Egyptologists.
It has been shown, for in-
stance, that the snake
which she placed in the
Sun-God's path was not a
work of clay brought to
life by incantations, but a
Christmas toy which her
loving mother had bought
for her at a rummage sale
in Thebes several years
earlier, and that the poison
did not proceed from ven-
omous fangs but from a
rusty nail which Isis had
affixed to the toy and on which Ra carelessly stepped as he
was passing.

For many centuries after the event, the exact manner of
Isis's wonderful performance was the subject of bitter con-
troversy between the high church and the low church parties
of the Egyptian denomination. On one occasion a split in (he
church was narrowly averted by a compromise in which the
low churchmen made the damaging admission that the business
was done, not by a rusty nail but by a poisoned thorn.

But whichever version be adopted, there can be no doubt
of the essential fact that the poor up-Nile girl became a god-
dess. Upon the issuance of a sworn ( Continued on pane 1 IS)

She found
every one of
the scattered
pieces and
put them to-
gether.

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Plays and Players

(Continued from page 88)

Charles Miller

Trie only five-year-old boy in trie world to own his own car: Jackie Coogan.
"The Kid" actually purchased this new Velie sedan from his own earnings.
That's Mrs. Coogan trying to hide behind the wheel. Jackie usually lets her

drive.

■"HERE is a celebrated star who has the
reputation of unusual frankness. She
almost always says what she thinks, with
often disastrous results.

One evening she was scheduled for a
personal appearance in a popular-priced
theater somewhere in Manhattan. The
owner of the theater — a young man of
marked Hebrew extraction — called for her
in his car. The star stepped in, in all the
glory of her satin-and-sequin evening gown,

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

her gold slippers, and her sables. Her
companion looked at her in awe, rubbed a
diamonded hand over his patent-leather
hair, pulled down his ornate waistcoat, and
said proudly: "If I'd a known you was
going to doll up, I'd a worn my dress suit."

The star turned to him. Her famous
full-lipped mouth drooped; her round eyes
grew rounder.

She yawned. "Goodness," she sighed,
"don't you look bad enough as it is?"./

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)

DOUGLAS MACLEAN has returned
to his Hollywood mansion and the
bosom of the lnce studio after a six weeks'
tour of the southern cities, making personal
appearances. He had a perfectly grand
time, was marvellously received, made as
many speeches as the president, and was
darn glad to get home.

One day at a railroad station in Texas,
Doug and Mrs. MacLcan, his manager, and
his cameraman, arrived with their trunks
about twenty minutes before the train was
due to leave. It seems, that on some small
railroads in the south, getting your trunks
on the same train with you so that you may
keep a fatherly eye upon them is a matter
of diplomacy and persistence.

Doug politely requested the baggage
agent to put the trunks on the train. But
the baggage agent was hot and disinclined.
He remarked carelessly that he didn't
believe he had time to get 'em on this one —
they could just as well go on the next. He
leaned back in his chair and chewed a straw
with malevolent unconcern in Doug's face.

Train time drew near. Doug had an
inspiration.

"Would $5 do any good, do you suppose,"
he said to the baggage agent, reposing in
the sun.

There was instant response. It seems it
wasn't impossible. The trunks were hustled
aboard, the train began to ring its bell, the
baggage agent pulled the door shut on the
trunks and looked expectantly at Doug.

"That's all right," said Doug, grinning,
as he swung on the step that began to glide
forward, "I didn't say anything. I just
asked you if you thought five bucks would
do any good. Good-bye."

MARY HAY is going back to the stage
sometime soon.
When she married Richard Barthelmess,
it was more or less decided that she would
retire, but Richard, being a young man of
intelligence, soon realized that a talent, such
as his wife possesses, should not be wasted
on housekeeping, no matter how small and
delightful the house. And Mr. Ziegfeld
wants Mary to come back in one of his
plays any way and it may be that she will
be her husband's leading woman in one of
his future pictures. I hope so.

SOMEDAY somebody is going to write
the reminiscences of a Property Man or
the Autobiography of a Purchasing Agent.

In the meantime, here is one recorded at
the Thomas H. Ince studio the other day.

King Vidor — who since the public didn't
appreciate that artistic gem "The Jack-
Knife Man," has gone in for making box-
office pictures — was filming a wreck scene
on a railroad tressle.

Somebody in the purchasing department
discovered that it would cost a hundred dol-
lars a day to rent the big firenets to put un-
der the twelve foot drop, and got foolishly
economical. Instead, he substituted piles of
straw and mattresses.

The smoke pots got to near the straw, it
caught fire, the extra people got scared,
there was a regular panic both among those
who jumped and those on the bridge and
the train who ought to.

But the tragedy — the real, stark tragedy
— was that the cameraman forsook his
crank and went to help put out the fire!
When he should have been getting all that
real stuff.

Mr. Vidor calmed the situation, spared
the cameraman's life, and the next day they
hired the nets and did it all over again
right. (Continued on page 99)

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Honeymoon Shanty

{Continued from page 66)

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played golf or tennis or knew anything
about dinner-dances or auction. The rest
of the city held Shantytown at arms'
length and looked the other way. Fortu-
nately, Shantytown did not give a whoop,
and figuratively twiddled its fingers on the
end of its nose at everybody and everything.

Therefore, Hope walked in that general
direction. That she got into her own neigh-
borhood was certainly not the result of de-
sign on her part. She could not have found
the house if her life had depended on it. She
did not know its number, if there was a
number, or what street it graced with its de-
cayed splendors. All she knew about it was
that it was the worst-looking, most forlorn
shack in the world.

The Cappellini kids and the Murrays were
playing together in the street as peaceably as
Italians and Irish can when Hope came
along. The reason they were not fighting
one another, as usual, was because both fac-
tions were absorbed in the lively pastime of
teasing one goat. Why they should have
picked on one goat was a mystery, because
in that neighborhood there were plenty of
goats to go round, and maybe lap over a
trifle. Maybe it was because Louis Quinze
— that was the goat's subsequently ac-
quired name — was feeling especially tem-
peramental that morning on account of
having had a tabasco-colored circus-poster
for breakfast.

Anyway, he was responding nobly to
treatment. The Cappellinis and the Mur-
rays were having all the fun of a bull-fight
without, so far, having suffered a casualty.
The littlest Murray nearly got butted once,
but he fell on his face and Louis Quinze
jumped over him instead.

All unsuspecting, Hope turned the corner
into this.

For a moment, even after she was right in
the thick of things, she did not notice. Her
consciousness was too much taken up with
the discovery that she had stumbled onto
her own unloved house. There the terrible
thing stood, a monument to her husband's
lack of finer sentiment. He had brought her
to that! She thanked God that she had had
the courage to leave him.

"Look out, lady!" yelled the Cappellinis
and Murrays in unison. It was one of the
few times they had gotten together on any-
thing.

Hope looked round apprehensively. Tear-
ing toward her, with horrible horns lowered
menacingly, came Louis Quinze. • He was
only a few feet away.

Now, if she had been watching the fin-
ished technique of those accomplished goat-
leasers the Cappellini kids, she would have
known how to wait until just the last six-
teenth of a second and then step aside to let
him pass harmlessly by like a miscalculated
dud.

But she had not been watching. She
didn't know how dangerous it was to be
butted by a goat, but she guessed that it
would kill her, at least, even if it didn't ruin
her dress. Louis Quinze looked ferocious.
He was pretty mad at that. For half an
hour he had been butting nothing but empty
air, and he was beginning to think that it
was up to him to hit something pretty soon
or else resign as premier marksman of the
Loyal Order of Goats. So Louis had his
whole soul in his work. His expression
seemed to say, "Let us have done with
nonsense."

So Hope turned and ran, ran toward the
most disreputable shanty in the world, sim-
ply because it was something she had seen
before. Her speed was a triumph over
modern fashions and a tight skirt.

The Cappellini kids shouted encourage-
ment: "Hurry, lady; beat it!" while the
Murrays, with ready sympathy for the home

team, yelled, "Sic 'em, Billy; sic 'em."

Hope reached the back steps a hair's
breadth ahead and gained the top as the
horns crashed into her flimsy support which
rocked beneath the impact of the blow.

The goat recoiled and stood laughing in
the peculiarly irritating fashion that goats
have. He only did it to cover his chagrin at
having scored another bloomer, but Hope
didn't know that. She thought that he was
chuckling over what a delicious morsel she
would make for lunch.

In a panic of fear, she tried the door be-
hind her, remembering, somehow, from her
former visit that it swung outward. Glory
be! It was not locked, and without stopping
to think of the shame of her action, she
opened it and squeezed inside, trembling in
every limb but safe from that terrible men-
ace outside.

It was a full minute before she became
cognizant of anything unexpected about her
surroundings.
_ The first things that arrested her atten-
tion were the casement windows, curtained
in red-and-white checked gingham which
was drawn taut in the exact center with stiff
red bows. And in a prim row on the win-
dow-sills were pots of red geraniums in
cheerful bloom.

Her gaze, critical at first and then de-
lighted, flew around the room and then went
back to details again and again.

The walls were cream-white with a plate-
rail just at the top of her head. On the shelf
was arranged a long procession of red-glazed
jars, each flaunting in white letters the na-
ture of its contents — sugar, salt, coffee,
cloves, cinnamon, all through the list of
spicy ingredients of future pies and cakes.

The floor was of red-and-cream-colored
mosaic linoleum, with two curly-looking
rag rugs on it. The kitchen table, though,
was the really important feature of the
room. Everything else seemed to radiate
from it. The funny part about it was that
it was just a table, common or kitchen, cov-
ered with an old-fashioned red-and-white
table cloth, the kind your grandmother used
to spread on her table about the time when
you had to light the kerosene-lamp every
night if you wanted to see while you were
getting things ready for tea. On this table
— Hope's table possibly — was a bowl of
apples, the reddest, shiniest apples she had
ever imagined.

It was rather a fascinating room — Hope
conceded that reluctantly. Instead of
noticing the highly enameled modern cook-
stove, or, after a second investigation, the
built-in cabinet, one found one's attention
riveted by the ticking of a queer old white-
lacquer clock with a landscape painted on it
and the two highly active and noisy canaries
in brass cages with little white covers puck-
ered in underneath with red ribbon to keep
the seed from scattering on the floor.

Now, this was not at all the kitchen that
Hope had seen when she first visited the
shanty. That had been a gray and gloomy
place, clean, it is true, but just a workroom
for preparing meals — that was all. This
was a playroom, a box of toys that one's fin-
gers fairly itched to experiment with. There
was even an apron hanging on a hook back
of the door, a large white one with a red
cross-stitch border round it, that she knew
would be neither too large nor too small but
just right.

To come into that kitchen after looking at
the unlovely exterior of the Van Huisen
shanty was just as unexpected as entering
the tent-flap of a wigwam to find oneself in a
ballroom. Martin had done a thorough job
of remodeling — there was no question about
that. But, Hope reflected, it was simply
another manifestation of the materialistic
tendencies of her husband. In his scheme

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Honeymoon Shanty

(Continued)

for a honeymoon he had provided every
modern convenience, so that his stomach
would not suffer, even if his wife were forced
to live in the wretchedest hovel in the known
world. By thinking of that, Hope man-
aged to resist her impulse to take off her hat
and begin to get acquainted with that
kitchen at once.

No; to preserve her pride, she must get
out right away. But when she went to the
door the goat was still there looking hope-
fully toward the place where she had dis-
appeared. He really was waiting on the
long chance that the kind lady would hand
out a nice juicy tin can or a little second-
hand excelsior, but she misunderstood his
expression and, with a shudder, drew back
into the security of the kitchen.

But she was there under false colors, and
she had no intention of being misunder-
stood. To relieve any misapprehension, she
must tell Martin, or whoever happened to
be there, how she happened to be in the last
place in the world that she cared to enter.
So she raised her voice and shouted:
"Hello, in there! Hello!"
There was no answer — nothing at all. It
was such a tiny house that it seemed im-
probable that anyone could be there and not
hear her, but she tried it once more.

This time, there could be no mistake. She
was all alone in the place. Curlylocks in the
home of the three bears was really in a less
embarrassing predicament. With that
menacing goat outside the back door, she
simply could not leave that way, and if she
stayed, Martin might come any minute, and
if he did, he very probably would misin-
terpret her presence. And glory in her
capitulation. And laugh at. her weakness.
Lord, how she hated him! At least some-
times— kind of.

No; she simply could not stay there even
if she got butted into the middle of next
week. Perhaps she could jump out of the
high and mighty front door while the goat
waited at the rear entrance, and, by running
as fast as ever she could, perhaps she might
gain the sanctuary of a policeman or some
other substantial refuge. It was worth try-
ing.

She crossed the threshold of the commu-
nicating door into the living-room. There
she promptly forgot her reason for going to
the front of the house.

For why? Because that living-room was
her room, she knew it the minute she set
eyes on it. It fitted her soul like a glove.
It wasn't very large but, then, neither was
her soul; so that was perfectly all right. It
was a room that had been planned and exe-
cuted by some one who had been behind
Hope's very own eyes and had seen her
dreams with them. In her waking-mo-
ments she would not have dared to think
of anything one-half so charming.

If you care to make a room like it, you
must first know a woman very well and yet
love her very well. And you must match,
not her moods, but her heart to the colors
and textures.

But you would not want to make one like
Hope's — yours must be Helen's or Lilian's
or whatever may be her adored name.

Besides the conventional table and the
piano-lamp and the wee grand piano and
the hangings, which articles you couldn't
copy because they aren't suitable for Lilian
or Helen, there was a low, wide fireplace.
And in front of it was an easy chair, the only
easy chair in the room.

Hope pretended to be angry because
Martin had provided that chair for himself,
not caring whether she ever sat down or not,
but she smiled to herself because she really
knew right away what he meant. It was
such a comfy chair, and it was so very large
for just one person.

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This picture is a reduced

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~^ Honeymoon Shanty

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The entire room was like that chair, and
she understood everything it said to her.
It was talking to her with his voice, telling
her everything she had been wanting to hear
for two mortal days. Every inch of it
caressed her, and some things about it were
very like kisses on the tips of her fingers.

Hope let the room sink into her conscious-
ness, wandering about it, touching things
with her hands lightly — her own things.

It was while she was thus engaged that
she heard the bell for the first time. It
wasn't an electric door-bell or a telephone-
bell, nothing shrill or strident like that —
just the merest hesitating tinkle, like a fairy
aria, far away. She was not sure that she
really heard anything at first, because it
started and stopped shyly, sort of half-way
in a melody. Then, when it grew louder and
nearer, she was almost frightened. It was
right there in the house. It came into the
room.

She looked at the door to the kitchen be-
cause it seemed to enter from there. But
there was nothing — nothing, that is, that
she could see.

The reason she could not see it was be-
cause she had been looking too high. When
her eyes dropped to the floor, the mystery
was explained.

The bell was on a tiny kitten about seven
inches long, a white one, which was chasing
a celluloid ball across the floor. When it
saw her, it stopped doubtfully and then
flopped enticingly on its back at her feet.

" Xo matter whose cat you are or how you
got in here, you can't do that to me without
being noticed," Hope declared, getting down
on the floor herself and gathering up the
little white ball of fuzz into her lap.

There was a tag as well as the bell fas-
tened on the ribbon around its neck. She
fished it out from the long hair and read:

The name of this is Lucy Fur, but
she doesn't know it yet. She's a I'll
fallen angil. Don't pet her because
she has a black heart and is a con-
firmed catnip fiend!

The kitten was trying strenuously to re-
fute this slander with a twelve-cylinder purr
that nearly rocked the building.

" I believe you in spite of this cowardly
anonymous letter to the contrary," Hope
assured her, "and to prove it I'll give you a
saucer of cream for dinner tonight. Be-
cause you're my cat."

This seemed perfectly satisfactory to
Lucy Fur; so the agreement was cemented
with a romp.

There was one more room in the building.
Hope remembered that from her previous
visit to the place before it was transformed.
With the kitten under her arm, she started
to investigate.

At the door, she paused. There was a tag
on the knob which she unfastened and
read.

One may not enter here unless it be to
stay.

She pondered this a moment and then
smiled.

"Cat, this man is trying to make a slave
of me, but he certainly does use a wonderful
quality of chain." She read the tag again.
"Come on, cat; I guess we aren't scared,
much.1' She turned the knob.

(Concluded)

There were twin beds in it.

"Oh!"

There was other furniture, dark walnut,
and wall-paper and curtains, all in restful
cool colors, but she did not notice the other
things at first. She resented those twin
beds. Being alone, she could do that with-
out blushing very much.

She went over and stood between them.
There was plenty of room. They were at
least four feet apart. She admitted that
they were beautiful beds with marvelous silk
comforters and Chinese-embroidery spreads.
She opened one, — the linen was fine and
soft.

"His, I suppose," Hope sneered and
turned to the other and threw back the
coverlet.

There wasn't a thing under it but the
mattress.

And a tag, right in the middle, printed
thus:

This one is only for looks and the cat.

She covered it up hastily.

There were three closets and a bath off
from this room. Hope wondered how he
had done it, and finally came to the conclu-
sion, for the first time, that her husband
was really a very clever architect.

Two of the closets were just closets, but
the third one had a heavy padlock on it.
There was no key in sight, just one of the
inevitable tags!

This door is locked to all save one,
who will understand. She will not even
need a key.

Now, that was curious. There was a very
solid-looking hasp on the door which fitted
over a substantial staple in the casing, and
the padlock was large and serviceable in
appearance.

Still the tag said that she would not need
a key.

Hope tried the door. It opened easily as
the padlock fell apart. It was wax.

The closet was packed full of toys, dolls,
and picture-books. Some of them were old
and some of them were new. Hope recog-
nized one of her very favoritest dolls in the
lot. She picked it up first.

He had known that she would. The tag
on it read:

To keep you from being lonely
we come.

until

Hope found the telephone in the kitchen.
But she did not use it until she had tried
half the recipes in the cook-book in the
cabinet.

She fed her first batch of biscuits to the
goat, and he went away at last, not to return
for an entire week. His better sense warned
him not to come back even then, but he was
a game goat.

She was watching behind the curtains of
the front window when Martin hurdled the
gate. She wanted to run away and hide.
He looked so big and rough someway and —

Until he grabbed her in his arms.

Then he proved to be as gentle and com-
fortable as she could possibly imagine.

And a wonderful person to cry on the
shoulder of when he told you how glad he
was that you had come home.

This Has Dramatic Possibilities

THE latest restaurant fad is to have near-movie stars act as host-
esses on certain nights to distract the attention of the guests when
the waiter makes out the check. — Variety.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Life in the Films

(Continued from page 59)
daughter of the idle rich, but an ex-lady-
barber; for no one can trim one's own hair
and feather-edge it in the rear, even with
all the requisite tonsorial paraphernalia.
And while we are on the subject of hair,
it might be noted further that few cinema
islands are sufficiently wild or insulated
to interfere to any great extent with the
coiffure of the stranded lady herself. Also,
she has either brought with her from the
foundering ship, or else discovered some-
where on the island, a theatrical make-up
outfit; for in all the close-ups of her, where
we are shown the physiognomic effects
of spiritual regeneration, we see evidences
of an eye-brow pencil, a lip-stick, a powder-
puff and a rouge box. Moreover, in these
same close-ups, as she clasps her hands
ecstatically just over the larynx to sym-
bolize her esoteric awakening, we perceive
that her finger-nails are bleached and pol-
ished and filed into long stilettos — a fact
which bears witness to the presence on

the island of a manicure set.

* * * *

The actual life on a South Sea island,
as revealed in the silent drama, has certain
peculiarities which sooner or later are sure
to attract the attention of anthropologists,
due to their distinct variation to all ob-
served and recorded habits and usages
of mammal existence.

For instance, one can apparently subsist
indefinitely without nourishment. At any
rate, we never see a shipwrecked couple
in the act of eating. As for sleeping:
the man erects a hut of dried palm leaves,
which acts as a nocturnal shelter for the
woman; but this foliar domicile evidently
exhausts the island's building material,
for he rarely, if ever, constructs a hiber-
naculum for himself, sleeping instead on
the ground in the open.

During the day, when not scanning the
horizon or going to the spring, the dwellers
on film islands race frantically along the
beach or in and out of the tide-wash in
gay and innocent pursuit of each other;
or else they play hide-and-seek among the
rocks and boulders. In the late afternoons
the sit meditatively upon some promontory
making polite love and discussing morals
and philosophy.

All motion-picture exiles are earnest
disciples and ardent admirers of Dr. Frank
Crane; for all their ethical disquisitions,
both in style and subject-matter, show
undeniable influences of that reverend
gentleman's thumb-nail sermons.

In the matter of ablutions, there is no
evidence that the male outcast on a cinema
island ever bathes, despite the proximity
and convenience of the ocean. The woman,
however, has an active aquatic complex
amounting almost to a lavatory psychosis;
for she is continually disrobing and plung-
ing into the sea. (She is generally ob-
served inadvertently by the man at the
moment she is poised for the plunge.)

* * * *

Also, there is something in the meteor-
ological conditions of these film islands
which inflames the lady with Terpsich-
orean proclivities. Though heretofore
she has never been a devotee of the Den-
ishawn art, and is ignorant of the Ballet
Russe and other forms of classical leg-
shaking, nevertheless, when the crepus-
cular shadows begin to gather, she selects
a flat piece of territory, lets down her
hair, and launches forth, a capella, upon
a long series of jete tours, pas de chat,
arabesques, changemenls, deboulles, ciseaux,
and other aesthetic dancing figures, with
various Del Sartean gestures thrown in.

On the whole, the existence of ship-
wrecked islanders, as portrayed in the
films, is healthful and pleasant and any-

What the silver sheet reveals
about shoe style

Ti
t

A study of the foot in
action as shown by mov-
ing pictures and used by
Red Cross Shoe designers.

*HE beauty and grace of the movie star's foot
— gloved in footwear matching gown and fit-
ting occasion — adds the final dashofpleasing
smartness to an attractive ensemble.

But the silver sheet does more than that. It reveals the
principle of lasting shoe style used by Red Cross Shoe de-
signers— the principle that proves that the foot in action
has different measurements from the foot at rest.

The Red Cross Shoe — made to fit the foot in action — has
soft, snug, clinging lines that keep their shapeliness. Because
it is not easily forced out of shape, it retains the smart
style it had when new. And there is comfort, always, in
the Red Cross Shoe.

New styles favored for this reason

One of the high class shoe stores in your community is now
showing the season's smart new Red Cross Shoe models.
You will find there a charming selection moderately priced
at from $8 to $12.50, with many stylish models at $10.
Write for the new Footwear Style Guide — sent without charge.
With it we will send the name of your Red Cross Shoe dealer or tell
you how to order direct. Address the Krohn-Fechheimer Co., 31 1
Dandridge Street, Cincinnati, Ohio.

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine-

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$CtnriOO Prize
OUU Contes

The famous Lester Park-Edward Whiteside pho-
toplay, 'Empty Arms," is creating a sensation. It
hits inspired the song "Empty Arms," which con-
tains only one verse and a choriiB. A good second
verse is wanted, and to the writer of the best one
submitted a prize of S500.00 cash will be paid.
This contest is open to everybody. You simply
write the words for a second verse — it is not neces-
sary that you see the photoplay before doing so.
Send in your nu-iie and address and we shall send
you a copy of the wonts of the iirst verse and
chorus, the rules of the contest and a short s> n-
opsis of this wonderful photoplay. 1. will cost
you nothing to enter the contest.

Write postal or letter today to

"EMPTY ARMS" CONTEST EDITOR

Lester Park-Edward Whiteside

Photoplay Productions

214 W. 34th St., Suite 16. New York, N. Y.

You can he quickly cured, if you

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-Advertising Section

Life in the Films

(Concluded)

thing but dangerous. Occasionally a lion
or some other wild animal saunters by,
but nothing ever comes of it, as these
island beasts are always senile and decrepit
and apparently on the verge of a complete
physical breakdown.

The average sojourn of island castaways

in the Tropic of Capricorn, lasts just long
enough for the infinite silences, the great
spaces, and the elemental forces of nature,
to get in their cleansing and purging work,
and to show up the tawdriness and little-
ness of fashionable afternoon teas and other
such social activities.

MISS VAN WYCK SAYS:

CONSTANCY A— You have a very
charming name. You wish to know
if gray is too sombre a shade for a
girl of twenty. On the contrary:
gray may be worn by a very young lady or
a very old one. In fact, it has been one of
the most popular colors for months. You
should have gray slippers and stockings of
exactly the same shade to match your gown.
Do write to me again.

much used on the new hats. Ostrich feath-
ers, curled and glycerined, and various
stiff feathers, are all good. Grosgrain rib-
bon is popular, too. Hats may be large or
small according to the individual taste of
the wearer.

H. L. O., Port Chester. — Monkey fur is
still very good. It is used as a trimming for
dark dresses. Canton crepe is an excellent
material with which to make your new
afternoon frock.

Mother, Dallas. — I wish you would
look at the children's dresses in this issue's
fashion pages. These designs are all exclu-
sive, and you are free to copy them. If you
do not find what you want, please write to
me in detail.

Mary F., Madison, Wis.— Spain has in-
spired many of the evening gowns; and
Spanish shawls are also being widely worn.
Particularly becoming to brunettes are the
Spanish gowns, shawls, and combs. If you
are a blonde, and a tiny one, I would not
affect such styles. You are an ingenue in
age and appearance, and you should dress
the part. And I don't mean by that, that
you should wear only fluffy frocks, but that
you should dress simply. Curls are not
absolutely necessary for the twentieth-cen-
tury ingenue, my dear.

Cecilia, San Diego. — I have a sketch in
my pages this month which may interest
you. You say your hair is long but that
you wish it weren't, and yet you haven't the
courage to cut it. Turn to Page 45 and
look at the young lady pictured there. She
has long hair, really, but she is wearing one
of the National Robs — simply attaching it
to her own hair with two tiny combs — and
as it is a perfect match for her coloring, it
looks absolutely natural and "bobbed."
And if a girl's hair is really bobbed, the
National Bob saves her the trouble of curl-
ing it.

Marietta, New York. — Please follow
your mother's advice about your dresses.
She knows so much better what is becoming
to you than I do. She is very wise in her
selection of school things for you; and al-
though at the age of seventeen her restric-
tions on silk lingerie and lacy stockings may
not seem just, I am sure you will sooner or
later come round to her way of thinking. In
only one respect do I differ with her, and
that is in the matter of brightly-colored hats
and dresses. I believe that young girls
should wear vivid shades as much as possi-
ble, because you can't do it when you are
older. Of course, colors may be used indis-
creetly; but needless to say, their correct
use is charming.

J. K., Alberta, Canada. — The fur
dresses are exceedingly smart. They are
costly, too. I think you might be able to
make your old fur coat into the skirt of a
dress and make a bodice of satin or velvet.
Generally speaking, the new fur coats have
high collars and narrow shoulders. Some
emphasize the outline, others have a full
flare.

Mrs. T., Atlanta. — Skirts are, indeed,
very much longer. I believe emphatically
in the comfortable, charming skirt of me-
dium length and hope we will not get back to
the ground-sweeping styles of other days,
except possibly for formal evening wear.
The twentieth century is hardly the time for
long skirts. Imagine hoop-skirts in the
modern motors, or the sub-ways and street

Dorothy G, Fort Wayne, Indiana. —
Remember, any method of reduction is good
only as long as you keep at it. And the
same applies to skin treatments. You have
got to make a habit of it. For instance, a
hair-tonic may be very good and highly
recommended. You may try it for a month
or so and then decide, since there is no
noticeable result, that it is ineffectual. And
you blame the hair-tonic, don't you? Keep
eternallv at it.

Jane, Lima, Ohio. — Feathers are being

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE

Gwen. — Why, the only thing I know to
keep one's hair in place, is a good hair-net.
This is simple enough, goodness knows. I
am sure you won't be bothered any longer
with refractory locks; they will stay
smoothly in place. Do not wear the jeweled
pins and combs except in the evening.

Mrs. John Ogilvie. — Thank you so very
much for your expressions of interest. I
am glad you are depending upon my fashion
pages for guidance. I am sure you will be
interested in the original and exclusive de-
signs of M. Raoul Bonart, a recent acquisi-
tion to Photoplay's staff, who will devote
his entire time to conceiving and sketching
new frocks for you. Do not hesitate to
write to me for suggestions.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

How I Keep in Condition

(Cotitinued from page 33)
hours with strips of veal. I have never done
anything like that — Goodness, no! The
idea would be offensive to me, and, I am
sure, to most young American women of
today.

Madame Pompadour, however, had a
good reason for it. She knew that, while
the other ladies of the court would return
from the hunt bedraggled, and their com-
plexions roughened by the arduous chase,
hers would be as soft and pink as a rose-
petal. I am much fascinated with the
stories handed down to us from the court
gossips on these great beauties of history,
but I'm a little sorry to say I can't believe
all of them. I am wondering if Madame
Pompadour did not have my own theory, so
many, many years ago — that there are
sports and exercises that simply do not suit
one's personality. Possibly the hunt was
one of those sports. I may be wrong; of
course it's just a theory. And while I am
theorizing, let me finish it. I would not be
surprised at all if the veal didn't have a
thing to do with it. I'll bet it was the love
for Louis that made her beautiful, or her
happiness in the knowledge of his love.

Well, some day I should like to try some
of those magic recipes for perfect beauty.
But it won't be until my screen career is
quite over and I can afford to experiment;
for who knows if some malicious old dow-
ager didn't invent all the potions to put into
her little diary to amuse herself and her
great-great-great-grandchildren?

Plays and Players

(Continued from page 93)

BEBE DANIELS has a very decent sort
of a disposition as a rule.
But when they made her jump twelve feet
from an aeroplane, without a life-net, hang
by her own weight from a pipe on the roof of
a two story house, and drop and then cut all
the scenes out of the picture, poor little Bebe
lost her Spanish temper for the first time
since she became a star, and they tell me
the whole troop ran for cover.

LOS ANGELES newspapers have pub-
lished quite definite reports recently of
the separation of Gloria Swanson and her
husband, Herbert Somborn.

These have been denied by Mr. Somborn,
but substantiated by friends of the couple,
who seem to think that the separation is per-
manent and ignore Mr. Somborn's denial.

Which leads one to question whether,
after all, a husband really ever knows about
these things.

One might ask Lou Tellegen.

However, the facts that do seem estab-
lished in the Somborn-Swanson affair, are
that Mr. Somborn is at the Ambassador, in
Los Angeles, Miss Swanson is in New York
making personal appearances with her first
starring picture "The Great Moment" and
the baby — 10 months old Gloria Swanson
second — is in a Los Angeles Hospital, where
she has been undergoing a rather difficult
siege with the whooping cough.

The family may not be separated, but it
certainly appears to be a bit scattered.

MAY COLLINS certainly has a reputa-
tion for engagements.

No sooner has the hue and cry concerning
Charlie Chaplin died down, than little birds,
and local newspapers, and Dame Rumor and
everybody including the extra girls begins
to declare that Miss Collins is some day soon
going to become Mrs. Richard Dix.

Lots of people seem to believe it.

We don't like to commit ourselves, but
it looks that way.

And May is only 18.

And, as the guests arrive,
the su btle fragrance
greets them

Faint, and at first imperceptible — a
fragrance — a new note of beauty —
plays upon their senses.

It is incense — the odor of welcome
for thousands of years — which greets
them and gives an unspoken welcome
to the guests as they arrive.

A clever device
for hostesses to know

Famine's — the true
Temple Incense

Vantine's Temple Incense
is the incense with the true
fragrance of the East — a

All the sweet deli-
cacy of Wistaria Blos-
soms is imprisoned in
Van tine's Wistaria
Toilet Water.

fragrance rich, subtle, delicate and
softly Oriental.

Which fragrance is most
charming?

While hostesses agree on Vantine's
Temple Incense, there is some debate
as to the most charming fragrance.
Some hostesses like the rich Oriental
fullness of Sandalwood; others choose
the sweetness of Wistaria, Rose or
Violet, while still others prefer the
clear and balmy fragrance of the Pine.
Whichever you prefer, you can get it
from your druggist or your gift
shop. Practically every department
store, too, offers it, so swift has been
its spread throughout America.

Try, tonight, the fragrance
which appeals the most
to you; or, just name it as
suggested below and we
will be glad to send it
to you as your first
acquaintance package.

VANTINE'S Temple Incense is sold at druggists, department stores and
gift shops in two forms — powder and cones — in 3 packages — 25c, 56Y and 75c

Temple Incense

Sandalwood

Violet

Wistaria

Pine

If you will send 25c to A. A.
Vantine & Co., 64 Hunterspoint
Avenue, Long Island City, N. V . .
and name the fragrance you
prefer, we will be glad to send
you an Introductory Package.

When yon write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

IOO

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Soothing the Censors

The ladies and gentlemen of the scis.
sors had a large time in California.

THEY may recover, but they'll never
look the same. I mean those dear
old censors after their visit to Holly-
wood and especially that little trip
down to Sunset Inn.

Censors have been criticized. Censors
have been maligned. Censors have been
scoffed at and even sworn at. But nobody
ever thought of soothing them. Of treating
them like human beings. Of entertaining
them.

Perhaps because it is impossible to soothe
censors. Perhaps their activities in regard
to such films as "The Four Horsemen of the
Apocalypse" prove that they cannot be
treated as human beings. . But it was worth
trying, anyway.

The Universal Company frankly admits
that it invited the members of the various
official censorship boards to California, at a
cost of many thousands of dollars, for the
express purpose of showing them the feature
which Von Stroheim has just completed at
a cost of over a million dollars. Some
newspapers, particularly the Kansas City
Star, made sharp criticism of the junket, but
what's a little trip to California among
friends. It's too bad, however, that it had
to be planned in the summer season. It's
so much more pleasant to get away to bask
in the Californian sunshine, not to speak of
Mr. Von Stroheim's picture, when the
wintry winds are whistling over the home
grounds.

A censor may be as heartless as the Fates
with his scissors and as impervious to
feminine wiles as a tombstone, but even a
plaster saint would beg for wax in his ears,
blinkers on his eyes and a good stout rope
to tie him to the mast if he had Mabel
Normand, Priscilla Dean, Clara Kimball
Young, May Allison, Bebe Daniels, Nazi-
mova, Mae Busch, Edna Purviance, Phyllis
Haver, Colleen Moore, Marie Prevost and
Ruby de Reiner all turned loose on him at
once.

And that, between you and me, is just
what happened to fourteen of them the
other evening.

TO be a bit more chronological, Carl
Laemmle, president of Universal, ar-
ranged for a "Censors' Expedition" — a sort
of a Cook's Tour through Hollywood for
fourteen of the most important film revisers
from the eastern states. The group came
by special train from the east as Mr.
Laemmle's guests and spent a week seeing
Hollywood.

It might borrow a title from that last
picture of Bebe Daniels' and be christened
"One Wild Week."

If they didn't have a good time, it's be-
cause censors can't.

There were no Blue Laws operating while
the program arranged for their entertain-
ment was carried into effect. The film
colony united in trying to show these
scissorial officials that a good time can be
had by all without any permanent disloca-
tion of the commandments.

MONDAY morning they went to
Universal City and were duly wel-
comed by all the Universal peaches and
officials. Tuesday they had a dip in the
Pacific, and since they don't believe in one
piece bathing suits on the screen we hope
they didn't peek at any on the sands near
Crystal Pier — for the one pieces there are
very small pieces indeed. In the afternoon
they toured through the other big Holly-

wood studios, thoroughly chaperoned by
the Universal crew, who didn't intend to let
anybody else kidnap them — and the screen
stars, and all the little starlets, turned out
to add to the glory of the California
scenery. Wednesday they were shown an
animal circus at Universal and even Mrs.
Joe Martin cast a vampish eye upon them.
Thursday, Harry Carey had a barbecue at
his ranch, accompanied by a few rodeo
stunts.

Friday they sailed over to Catalina and
took a look at the submarine gardens.

We hope all the little goldfish had their
mackintoshes on.

WEDNESDAY night, which is Photo-
players' Night at Sunset Inn, they
were entertained at Sunset Inn by Mr. and
Mrs. Eric Von Stroheim. They were
almost injured in the mob of stars that
turned out to do them honor and to see if
they couldn't be won to the general Holly-
wood belief that the only thing that should
be cut out of pictures is the censors.

Mabel Normand was there, all dressed in
black — at least almost all dressed, with the
cutest tiny black hat over her curls. One
of those smiles she was showering, around
ought to stop an army of censors. Clara
Kimball Young was excessively gorgeous in
black with a new shawl effect topped by a
large jeweled comb in her black hair that
gave her a most Carmenesque effect.
Priscilla Dean — it was Priscilla Dean
Night, by the way — was dashingly brilliant
in black, with beads, and an enormous
picture hat covered with natural Bird of
Paradise.

I suppose the black was intended as
mourning — just dressing down to the
censors.

However, Mae Busch broke the monotony
of these ladies by a daring creation of
flame colored chiffon, with a purple sash
hung with a bunch of purple grapes, and
flamed colored slippers and stockings. She
wore no hat and Mae, you know, wears her
black hair bobbed and banged and straight
like Mary Thurman's, and it's quite exciting
looking. Mae and Gaston Glass won the
cup— and when somebody suggested that
the censors should be the judges instead of
the audience, there was a concerted and
violent "No" from the assemblage. With
Miss Busch and Mr. Glass were Tony
Moreno and June Elvidge, in black, alas,
but hung all over with green beads and a
little black hat with an enormous green
cockade.

MADAME NAZIMOVA had a big party
— I saw Rudolph Valentino devotedly
beside her — and "Nazy" introduced a new
fashion by wearing a deep silken fringe
across the front of her small hat, so that
when she wanted to see she had to part the
curtains and peer forth. Several of the
censors were presented to her and she was
most gracious and charming. (Perhaps she
was thinking of "Camille.")

Roscoe Arbuckle was host at a big table
and did his darndest to hand the censors
plenty of laughs. The prettiest girl at his
table was Phyllis Haver, in glittering and
gorgeous white. We were sorry the censors
couldn't see her in her bathing suit, though
a lot more of her really showed in that
Parisian creation. Lottie Pickford looked
about as usual, only her sunburn showed
through her frock and gave her something
the appearance of a life guard off duty.

Every advertisement in rilOTOPLAT MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

ioi

Soothing the Censors

(Concluded)

Alan Forrest and Lowell Sherman were at
the Arbuckle table also.

Herbert Somborn, who in private life i:
Mr. Gloria Swanson, had a party. And at
another table were Raoul Walsh and his
wife, Miriam Cooper, in a sport frock o)
white piped in red, with a red sport hat.
And Colleen Moore, with a young navj
officer, all in cerise and silver — Colleen, 1
mean, not the Navy.

EDNA ITRYIANCE was with the
Mahlon Hamiltons, I think; anyway
she was terribly smart and dellciously chk
in a sport outfit and let the censors have i
view of that dignified and disdainful mannei
with which she has so completely captured
the real "Social Register" crowd ol
Montecito and Pasadena. While little Maj
Collins — the girl who isn't engaged t(
Charlie Chaplin, you know — was a perfect
reproduction of a sub-deb that should havi
melted the heart of a Sunday school super-
intendent— all in pale pink and rosebuds,
with Richard Dix as a background.

May Allison, in orchid chiffon, was per-
fectly cast as a " Daughter of the South "
— they couldn't have cut a comma on her,
and Bebe was — Bebe. Thrilling and gor-
geous as ever.

WE can only hope that it wasn't Thurs-
day morning that Mr. Laemmlc
showed these censors "Foolish Wives."

It has been largely rumored that this
picture was likely to be well cut up by the
censors, and so Mr. Laemmle had the very
good idea of getting them to come out here
and see it, so that it could be cut, titled and
if necessary, re-shot, on the ground, with
an idea of just how far the "don't men"
would permit it to go.

And surely nobody can blame Mr.
Laemmle for giving them a good time and
getting them in a good humor first, if pos-
sible. That's good business.

We shall all be interested to see what
happens to "Foolish Wives."

Raoul Bonart

is now designing
costumes exclu'
sively for the readers
of Photoplay. You
may copy any one
of his creations
with the knowledge
that you will be
correctly attired.

His first creations appear
this month on pages 44-45

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102

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Jmiirrel Cag

POST-WAR Sportsman — "The hounds meet on
the lawn tomorrow, my dear. We must give
them a stirrup."
Wife — "I hope the chef knows how to make it.
If not, I suppose claret-cup would do?" — Punch.

""THE Manchester (England) Guardian makes the

* curious discovery that "the 'blue-sky law' is
the name given by Americans to regulations for
smoke abatement." What it understands by the
"blue-law" agitation over here might be equally
interesting. — Springfield Republican.

CHE — "A woman has to give up a great deal after
*J she gets married."

He — "A man does nothing else but give up after
lie gets married. "^Boston Transcript.

ONE striking difference between the Soviet form
^-' of government and ours is that in Russia you
go to the theater or pay a fine, while in this country
you go to the theater and pay a tax. — Philadelphia
North American.

"Vf/HAT views of the hotel would you advise me
** to have published?" asked the proprietor.
"Not mine," murmured the disgruntled guest,
"My views wouldn't be fit for publication." — TU-
BUS.

THE motor-car of to-day is a splendid example
^ of scientific progress. And yet careless pedestrians
are continually spoiling its delicate machinery with
small pieces of themselves. — London Opinion.

"VY7ERE you trying to catch tnat train, sir?" he

" asked pompously.

The panting would-be passenger eyed him bale-
fully for a second before lie hissed in reply: "Oh,
no, I merely wanted to chase it out of station." — The
Arkligl.t.

""THERE is no city in Paraguay that has a fire
1 department or „ public water supply, and yet
fires are practically unknown. Asuncion, a city of
about 100,000 population, has had just one fire in
two years.

HOW was the cinema show?"
"Rather dull," said the jaded patron.
"No thrills, eh?"

"Well, the heroine jumped from a train to an
aeroplane, was carried over a precipice in a motor-
car, and was left standing on the deck of a submarine
when it submerged but there wasn t anything you
could really call exciting." — Tit-Bits.

GAMEKEEPER — "Are you aware this stream is
private, and that you are not allowed to take
fish from it?"

Angler (who has had nothing but nibbles all day). —
"Heavens! Man. I'm not taking your fish — I'm
feeding them!" — London Mail.

TREACHER — "Jimmy, can you explain what

* strategy means?"

Jimmy — "When you ran out of ammunition and
you don't want the enemy to know it it's strategy
to keep on firing." — New York Sun.

HOUSES of straw are to be erected in France.
The idr-a of straw houses has been put forward
by an expert in textiles, who, not content with per-
fecting his own branch of manufacture, has invented
a process for making bricks from compressed straw.

The framework of the houses will be made of
wood, and the walls will be built up with blocks of
straw. Owing to the lightness of the material,
there is no need for deep foundations, and a building
can be completed in a month.

MAGISTRATE (severely) — "Horsewhipping is
the only suitable punishment for you and your
kind. The idea of a man of your size beating a poor,
weak woman l'ke that1"

Prisoner — "But. your worship, she keeps irri-
tating and irritating me all the time."

Magistrate — "How does she irritate you?"

Prisoner — "Why, she keeps raying, "Hit me!
Beat me! Just hit me once, and I'll have vou
hauled up before that bald-headed old reprobate of
a magistrate, and see what he'll do with you.'

Magistrate (choking) — " Discharged." — Tit-Bits.

CTRIEND — "Is your husband saving up for a
* rainy day?"

Wife — "He's a perfect Noah! He's saving up for
the flood." — London Mail.

I PRESUME there is considerably more humidity
in Cuba than there is here," remarked the
Stay-at-Home.

"No," replied the Returned Traveler judicially,
" I can't say there is any more of it, but the prices
are lower." — New York Sun.

"TNADDY. who was Hamlet?"

*-' Wise Father — "Aren't you ashamed of such
ignorance at your age? Bring me a Bible and I'll
soon show you who he was!" — Tit-Bill.

ONE person out of every thirteen has a car. The
^-* rest are held up by a traffic cop to watch them
go by. — Life.

T SEE the Government is planning to get out
* a new thousand dollar bill."
"If they'd only printed two in the first place
they'd have been spared the trouble." — Life.

pROBABLY the choicest and most valuable beads
* in the world are those possessed by the natives
of Borneo. In many cases they are very old, and
have been kept for centuries in one family.

Some are thought to he of Venetian origin, while
others resemble a Roman variety.

It is difficult to induce the natives to sell their
beads, which they guard as heirlooms. A rich
chief may possess old beads to the value of thousands
of pounds.

A CLERGYMAN was spending the afternoon
** at a house in the village where he had preached.
After tea he was sitting in the garden with his hostess.
Out rushed her little boy, holding a rat above his
head.

"Don't be afraid, mother," he cried, "he's dead.
We beat him and bashed him and thumped him

until " catching sight of the clergyman, he

added, in a lowered voice, "until God called him
home." — Tit-Bils.

IN China you do not have to pay for admission to
cinema theaters. Everyone walks in free!

When inside the theatre, a towel cooled in ice
water is handed to each person. During the per-
formance the members of the audience mop their
perspiring brows with the wet towels.

When a few hundred feet of film have been shown,
the lights are turned up and n contribution box is
passed round. All must contribute according to
the price of the seat occupied. — Til-Bits.

LADY (to applicant for situation as cook) — "Have
you been accustomed to have a kitchen-maid
under you?"

Cook — "In these days we never speak of having
people 'under us.' But I have had colleagues." —
Punch.

OLD ROBINSON (inspecting young R's "personal
expenses" account for last college term) — "What
do you mean by forty dollars for tennis? "

Young R. (easily) — "Oh, that's for a couple of
rackets I had to have."

Old R. (severely) — "Yes, I understand, but I
think we used to call them bats.' — Princeton Tiger.

"T\ID the burglars overlook anything of value?"

*-* inquired the reporter.

"I'd rather not sav," returned the victim.

"Why?"

"Because they'll be watching the papers for a
day or two to find out." — Boston Transcript.

A WOMAN recently treated at a London hospital
said she had swallowed a mouse. There is
no excuse for this sort of thing in these days of
cheap and effective mouse-traps. — Looker-On (Cal-
cutta).

THE bone-like skin on the tips of our fingers is
one of the marks left from the time when men
walked on all fours.

The farther man got from his original surroundings,
when his finger-nails served a multitude of purposes
for which he now uses other utensils, the less prom-
inent they became. They are, however, still very
useful in helping to make the tips of the fingers firm
and in picking up small objects, though it is possible
that the time may come when, through constant
disuse, man may have neither finger nor toe nails.

MISSIONARY — "I have often wondered what
becameof mv predecessor."
Cannibal Chief — "O , him! He went into the
interior." — T t-Bits.

EVERY year no fewer than thirty thousand
persons disappear in London alone.

HE was unaware of the eccentricities to be found
in the Wild West. He entered what was appar-
ently the only hotel in the place.

After ushering him to a table and giving the
stranger the usual glass of iced water, the waiter
inquired: "Will you have sausages on toast?"
"No. I never eat 'em!"

"In that case, sir," replied the waiter, moving
away, "dinner is over."

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Squirrel Cage

(Concluded)

ON a St. Patrick's night in Hallarat, Dan Murphy
was addressing a big Irish audience, and the
applause was frequent and free.

"We arc a fourth of the population of this colony,"
he declared, and he held out his arm to suspend
the torrent of cheers. Then he repeated, im-
pressively: "We are a fourth of the population of
this colony — and. plaze God, we'll soon be a fifth!"
Thunders of acclamation. — Til-Bits.

LITTLE GIRL — "Papa, it's raining."
Papa (whose temper is somewhat ruffled) —
"Well, let it rain."

Little Girl (timidly) — "I was going to, papa. —
Pearson's Weekly {London).

TWO little kids were in swimming. One thrashed
about wildly, but made little progress.
"Hey. Jimmie." shouted the other, "keep yer
fingers together when ye're swimmin'. Ye wouldn't
eat soup wit a fork, would yer?"

STIRRING screen crimes will have to be done in
"costume" in the future, observes Tit-Bits.
The British Board of Film Censors, whilst deciding
not to pass films in which crime constitutes the main
theme, has made up its mind that stories dealing
with ' costume" crime — such as cowboy murders
and Mexican robberies — are to be placed in a different
category, and regarded as dramatic and thrilling
adventures.

TOMMY, returning to his regiment, lost his way
and inquired of a military policeman.
"Keep straight up this track, laddie, till _ you
come to a war," was the reply. "Then fight."

" TIM." she said, as he settled down for his after-
J noon smoke. "I've got a lot of things I want

to talk to you about."
"Good," said her husband, "I'm glad to hear it.

Usually you want to talk to me about a lot of things

you haven't got." — Tit-Bits.

I03

-"What! Fifty pounds for a
cheap, too. This

FIRST DEALER-
horse like that?"
Second Dealer — ' ' Ah — and
'orse can jump!"

First Dealer — "Jump I Not 'im. If 'e could
jump V ave jumped when 'e 'eard you ask fifty
pounds for im!"

IT has been calculated that no fewer than 460
million meteors drop upon the earth every day.
Most people will conclude that all this solid matter
must add to the bulk of the earth. And so it does,
but it takes a surprisingly long time to make any
appreciable difference. No less a period than 185
million years is required for this rain of dust, rock
and metal to increase the size of the earth by half
an inch. All of which is very interesting if true!

Peter Pan's Sister

(Continued from page 34)

at present with- Sir James Barry.

You know, you can tell a lot about a girl
by the kind of a dog she has — or whether
she has a dog or not.

May McAvoy has a fox terrier — a sassy,
ordinary, smart, little fox terrier that she
regards as probably the finest dog that ever
chased a cat. Apparently she doesn't know
a Pekinese from a Chow and doesn't want to.

And the chief reason that she likes Holly-
wood is because there are so many roller
coasts at the nearby beaches.

So far her starring vehicles have been
"A Private Scandal," "Everything for
Sale" and "A Virginia Courtship."

Her ideas concerning pictures are very
determined for so young and small a star.
She believes in naturalness, good stories and
careful direction.

"I was mighty lucky," she said; "I hit
pictures just about the time they needed
a tiny little girl like me. Miss Clark was
in retirement. Miss Dana seems to have
outgrown childish roles, and Miss Pickford
stands so much alone in her work we cannot
compare with her. So I'm glad I learned
early to be myself and not try to be big
and grand and dramatic."

I'm glad, too.

Oh, yes, she has a frightful aversion to
hairdressers. Her lovely chestnut hair is
naturally curly and has never been dressed
except by her own hands, either on or off
the screen.

ffi&t&M

=Perf ect Your Figure —

DON'T envy a friend who has a beautiful figure ; perfect your own.
You can have as good a figure as any woman you see. You can do this
with just a little time and properly directed effort in the privacy of your room.
A simple dress on a well proportioned figure looks better than an expensive
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I have helped 100,000 women in the last 20 years and at the same time they
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NEW YORK CITY

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

104

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Love and Co.

(Continued from page 47)

hoard on all sides lamentations and in-
quiries about Doris May, he did more than
figure.

One fine morning he walked into the
palatial office of Thomas H. Ince and in all
friendliness said something to this effect:

"I'm sorry I've got to leave you but I'm
going to become a producer myself. I am
going to star Doris May. I have her under
contract, I have the money in the bank,
and a signed release from Robertson Cole.
Miss May's dressing room is being deco-
rated in gray and lavender and we start
work next Monday."

Mr. Ince shook hands and grinned and
wished the new producer success. He
didn't feel quite so happy, we are told,
when he discovered that Hunt Stromberg
had also signed William Seiter, who directed
all the MacLean pictures and is one of the
best comedy directors in the business, as
well as Billy Camm, who acted as camera-
man under Seiter.

But then, as Doris May said to her erst-
while partner — and Miss May and Mr. and
Mrs. MacLean are exceedingly good friends,
by the way — "I need them so much worse
than you do, Doug. You've been on the
stage and you've been a star quite a while,
and you know a lot and I'm just a poor
little girl trying to get along — (or some-
thing like that) — so don't be cross."

As this is written, the camera is being
cranked for the first scenes. In America,
in the 20th Century, it is always a thrilling

thing to see young men with fire and con-
fidence and ability starting a new business
venture. Miss May is only nineteen — and
the men of the company aren't much older.
Yet they have all grown up with the picture
industry. They are trying, too, the busi-
ness plan that has proved so successful in
other lines — co-operative percentage of
profit.

And I'd like to bet a month's salary that
they'll make good, and that perhaps we've
witnessed the birth of a new producing
organization that will really last. Anyway,
it's one of those little business dramas we
all enjoy.

Doris May grew up with the business.
She was only fourteen when Cecil deMille —
who was a friend of her mother's — allowed
her to double for Mary Pickford in "The
Little American" in the water-and-aviatiort
stuff he could not afford to have his star
attempt.

Later, Thomas H. Ince saw her walking
up the street past his studio — he was in the
old Biograph lot then — and called her in.
He had some tests made of her and imme-
diately cast her for the lead with Charles
Ray in "Mamma's Boy." She played six
pictures with Ray, under the name of
Doris Lee. Then she went with MacLean.

She was married three months ago to
Wallace MacDonald, well-known leading
a delightful man, and the two live in
little Hollywood bungalow and are ideally
happy.

A Broadway Farmerette

(Continued from page 43)

personal appearances every night in a
Broadway theater at ten o'clock. By the
time she gets home it is by no means early
— she gets more encores than anyone on the
bill. And of course one can't rise early
when one gets to bed so late. And yet,
do you know, Hope is healthier than any
early-to-bed exponent I ever saw; she has
the clear eyes and skin of perfect health.
And if you don't think she's wealthy you
should glance at her salary check which buys
her all her twenty diamond and sapphire
and emerald and pearl bracelets, and her
yellow diamond and black pearl rings, and
her diamond and platinum pins, and her
imported gowns, and her blue-ribbon ca-
nines. As to her wisdom, she's a star at
twenty-two, gives every evidence of being
an even bigger star at twenty-three, has
three stage contracts she can sign any time
she wants to, and has money in the bank.
Even Solomon would have approved of her.

In the hottest days of last summer, Hope
toured the Middle West — making personal
appearances. .She is indefatigable when it
comes to her work. She had to sing — she
has a really fine voice of unusual timbre —
twice a day, between parties given in her
honor by the elite of the aforementioned
Middle West.

And now — let's be serious:

She has less theatricalism than any film
personage I ever met. With all her jewels
and with all her beauty, she is simple-
hearted as an honest-to-goodness country
girl. And generous. And sympathetic.

And she doesn't think she's good!

"I was terrible in 'A Modern Salome',
I admit it. I acted all over the place. I
stepped into a star role when most actresses
are doing atmosphere. I never had any
stage or screen experience in my life before
I made that picture. And I didn 't even go
to dramatic school long enough to satisfy
myself, although the teachers told me I was
all ready to make a sensational success.

Every advertisement in FHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

"That," she emphasized, "is the most
important thing of all. I know that when
I 'm satisfied with my work, I must be good.
I 'm my own harshest critic. And I may
say that very few times indeed have I ever
patted myself on the back."

The first picture starring her, "A Modern
Salome", was not what one could call an
unqualified success. But her astute man-
ager, Jules Brulatour, knew that it wasn't
good, and realizing that, he engaged a di-
rector of more finesse, secured a better story,
spared no expense in the staging, and the
result was "The Bait " — not a great picture,
but a good one. In it, Hope Hampton
proved herself a real actress and more than
ever, a real beauty. Then came "Love's
Penalty". And therein lies a tale.

"Love's Penalty" had a "sex" story. It
was well told and gave the star an oppor-
tunity for emotional acting of which she
took full advantage. But it was not, as
Photoplay Magazine pointed out in
its review, a picture the whole family could
see. Mr. Brulatour read the review. And
he immediately ordered the picture pulled
apart and put together again. After an ex-
pert film editor had recut and retitled it,
leaving out all the questionable scenes, in
fact, after practically rewriting the story,
it was "Love's Penalty" sans sex, and plus
a more wholesome heart and human inter-
est. There are few producers who have
done what Brulatour had the courage and
the patience to do. If he continues to give
Miss Hampton such cooperation, she will
soon have proved herself one of our most
interesting silversheet personalties.

"Star-Dust", from Fannie Hurst's story,
is the new H. H. production. In it the star
has wider scope and more human situations
than she has ever had. It's a simple story
of simple people, which, Miss Hampton be-
lieves, is what the public — or the better
part of it — wants and enjoys.

It 's too bad the color process hasn 't been

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

A Broadway Farmerette

(Concluded)
really perfected. Hope has the most gor-
geous coloring you ever saw: deep pink
cheeks, reddish-gold, curly hair, eyes as blue
as her own uncut sapphires, and a white
skin with an underlying tint, as the cold
cream advertisements put it, of perfect
health. I wish she would pose for some
pictures in her bathing suit. It's a brief
jersey of black and green — one piece. But
she won't. There's absolutely no reason
why she shouldn 't, except — that she doesn 't
want to.

She's not a bookish person. I doubt if
she reads at all. Her own press-notices
must keep her pretty busy, anyhow. Be-
sides, she's too busy living. But she's the
sort of girl who doesn't have to talk a lot
about the Irish question and the Blue Laws
and Freudian complexes and modern French
art. (In fact, I have known very few
women who have ever discussed these
things.) But she has a sense of humor, and
a keen, quick human understanding. And
what, I ask you, what more do you want?

DeMille Foresees a Shake'
speare of the Screen

DECLARING himself and a few con-
temporary motion-picture producers
to be the Heywoods, Marlowes and
Ben Jonsons of the screen, who are
making an art form darkly and in different
schools, William deMille looks to the next
generation to furnish a Moliere, an Ibsen
and a Shakespeare of moviedom. His work
and that of his contemporaries will not have
been in vain, this producer feels and says,
in The Drama, if "we shall have cleared
away the snags so that when the next
generation shall come an art form will be
ready to their hands, which they will
develop as the real screen literature." And
"I have never been so sure of anything as
that a real literature of the screen will
come. ... If Shakespeare had not found
the art form created by Marlowe, his own
art would have taken much longer to grow."
DeMille, in taking up motion-picture
production as an art, naively admits that
he welcomed an opportunity to be an old
master, because "in the drama where I had
been working for years, the previous fellows
were a little too strong for me. I did not
think I could eclipse Shakespeare or
Moliere, or Sophocles. I did not think
these gentlemen were going to turn over in
their graves through fear of the competition
of my work; but when we considered the
motion picture, how different the view! If
there were any old masters in motion
pictures, they were all old friends of mine.
To be sure, we differed among ourselves as
to which of us really were the old 'masters,'
but at least we were all in the running.
Greater fellows might come after us, but
they were not in front of us."

Until recently the average author came
to the motion-picture field rather as a con-
descension, much like the violinist who does
not know how to play the piano. The
master of the violin, as Mr. deMille puts
it, comes into the room where a little fellow
is trying to play and merely making a noise.
"That music is terrible!" he protests, and
everybody agrees with him. So the
violinist sweeps the little fellow off the
piano stool and, like a great artist, stoops
to play — to express his soul on an instru-
ment about which he knows nothing. The
hopeful prediction of a coming motion-
picture Shakespeare is based largely on the
fact that "real authors who are coming
today are willing to be convinced that
there is something they do not know."

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Coming Back at Friend

BUSTER KEATON

"The Playhouse"

WHEN a man is his own boss he stands or falls on his individual
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As\ Tour Theatre Owner if He
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Husband

(Continued from page 21)

the arms of another man to run for an-
other woman in place of the traditional
heavy artillery. But if the case is reversed
and the husband is seeking rest and recrea-
tion elsewhere, I should then suggest forcing
the companion of his lighter hours down
his throat for a while. The other woman
is often her own best emetic. Lecause the
kind of women who become other women,
generally won't stand the strain of con-
tinued companionship. Many beautiful
flowers have no scent and many beautiful
women have no sense.

i\rgument never busted up a flirtation.
But diplomacy has.

Let me say in passing that the woman
who encourages a man's infidelity to his
wife encourages his ultimate infidelity to
herself. A man will nearly always be un-
faithful to the woman he has been unfaithful
for. On the same premise, distrust the
man who says unkind things about other
women. Your turn will come.

Marriage should possibly be lived in the
tropics of emotion, as my husband wittily
declares. May I suggest that the electric
fan of moderation and mutual consideration
be kept well oiled? Because satiety — I
believe — is more often the portion of the wife
than of the husband.

Admitting that married men make the
best husbands, why not realize that
mothers make the best wives?

You may be a bully friend, your boudoir
manners may be as perfect as those of
Marguerite de Valois, and as a wife you
may even deserve the final palm of a joint
bank account, but if you lack the ability
to mother, you will be able to sail your
matrimonial bark only in calm water.

Horticulturally speaking, since Mr. Reid
has set me that precedent, the domestic
landscape gardeners Husband and Wife,
Inc., have a tough job cut out for them.
If it does need pruning — this tree of mar-
riage— it might be well to begin with the
branches of jealousy, sex prejudice and ill
temper.

"The friends of our friends are our
friends."

I cut that little proverb out of a gilt gift
book and pasted it over my desk when I
first married.

The wife who does not make friends of
the friends of her husband deliberately re-
fuses the most potent bulwark of defense
against outside interference. I would rather
have one of my husband's friends love me —
one of the people he actually admires and
respects and likes, be it man or woman —
than twenty of my own.

I know one man in Hollywood who waked
up to the folly of his ways when he dis-
covered that if he lost his wife he'd lose
every friend he had in the world as well.
When a man's friends love his wife, he is
surrounded by a Bureau of Propaganda in
her favor. He incurs their resentment
every time he incurs her displeasure.

Whether they be silken hose and smart
boots, or cotton socks and brogans, mascu-
line footgear invariably conceals the clay
feet of women's idols. The sooner woman
gets this firmly planted in consciousness,
just that much sooner will she cease ex-
pecting company on those planes of thought,
on those menial excursions, where clay feet
cannot make the grade. She will shed
fewer tears of disillusionment, and self-pity,
and clay feet are not so uncomfortable after
you understand them. But if time should
disclose a hoof of the cleft variety, don't
stay to do missionary work, but pack up
and run home to mother.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAT MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE ADVERTISING SECTION

Coming Back at Friend Husband

107

(Concluded)

Oh, gentle (men) readers, don't get the
idea that I think we women are free of
anatomical defects. But ours are more apt
to be at the other end of us — beautiful solid
ivory domes, trimmed with fancy ruchings
ot pretense and love of admiration.

Don't worry about the woman who walks
out ot the room and slams the door. But
beware the woman who shuts it quietly and
then squeezes the doorknob.

Of course, the surest way to please a
man is to forget yourself, since you can't
think about yourself and him at the same
time. But at that, the greatest of all
pleasures is to give pleasure to those we
love. That's the reason women are happier
than men if they love.

Remember that in marriage as in bridge,
you bid for a dummy you haven't seen.
Be game, if there isn't a trick in it.

Balzac wrote the greatest line about
marriage that has ever been penned.
"Marriage must incessantly contend with a

monster that devours everything — famil-
iarity."

I do not want to be too personal — but I
want to give you a real illustration of what
marriage means to me.

Above my desk as I write this are two
pictures of my husband. I love them both.
I regard them with dim eyes, as a battle-
scarred veteran regards his medals of
honor. On one is written : "To our Mama —
From Wally and Bill." On the other —
"To my Mama -Dot — with all my love —
Wally-boy."

That is marriage. To be absorbed into
another life — to live your life as another's.
In all happy marriages, a woman gives the
whole of herself. Experiments and progress,
woman's emancipation and suffrage, may
have changed the method of procedure, but
that eternal fact remains the same.

And oh, by the way, don't either of you
expect perfection until you can make de-
livery yourself.

Questions and Answers

(Continued from page 74)

Seventeen. — I don't see when you Olga. — Wallace MacDonald is co-
get time for school with all those letters starring with Carmel Myers in a new
to write to your favorites. Here are all Vitagraph serial; but he is still married to
the addresses you asked for: Eugene Doris May. So many of you seem to
O'Brien, Selznick; Fort Lee, N. J. Thos. think that a new business combination
Meighan, Gloria Swanson, and Milton must necessarily mean a matrimonial one
Sills, Lasky, Hollywood, Cal. Marjorie also. Not so, my children. Pauline Fred-
Daw, Marion Fairfax Productions, Los erick is Boston-American, which means,

Angeles, Cal.

Peggie of Portland. — For a first
attempt you do very well — too well. I
think you have too many favorites. Con-
rad Nagel, Lois Wilson, and Lila Lee,
Paramount. Ralph Graves, Lillian and
Dorothy Gish, Kate Bruce and Joseph
Schild kraut, Griffith, Mamaroneck, New-
York. Claire Adams, Benjamin B. Hamp-
ton Productions, Los Angeles, Cal.
Conway Tearle and Zeena Keefe, Selznick.

Marian. — "Foolish Matrons" included
the following players in its cast: Hobart
Bosworth, Doris' May, Wallace Mac-
Donald, Mildred Manning, Kathleen Kirk-
ham, Betty Schade, Margaret McWade,
Charles Meredith, Michael Dark, and
Frankie Lee.

that she is American, very. Ann Forrest
is abroad right now, playing in a picture
for Paramount. Seena Owen is playing
the lead in a new Cosmopolitan Production,
"Sisters," from Kathleen Norris' story, at
the International Studios, 127 Street and
2nd Avenue, N. Y. C.

Jackie. — The reason I said that Pearl
White said she wasn't married was that
Pearl White said she wasn't married.
Who am I to contradict a lady? Her
husband was Wallace McCutcheon; they
are now divorced. Roscoe Arbuckle lives
in Hollywood, Cal. He is divorced from
Minta Durfee. Pauline Bush has retired
from screen acting; but she is now in the
Orient gathering material for some future
film stories. She was married to Allan
Dwan when they were working together
a few; years ago. Dwan is one of the
Associated Producers.

J. B. D., Chicago. — Yes, "The Miracle
Man" was one of the greatest pictures

ever made — still is, and always will be. C. A., Detroit. — I have heard that Mary
George Loane Tucker made one more Miles Minter herself titled her picture,
picture for Paramount, "Ladies Must "Don't Call Me Little Girl," as it is said
Live." His death robbed the screen of a that Mary is very tired of being a juvenile.
great director. He was married to Eliza- Marjorie Daw is tall, slender, with dark
beth Risdon, who is appearing in a stage hair and brown eyes and nineteen years and
play in Manhattan. a bungalow in Hollywood and a sweet
disposition and a small brother. She is

Esther — I haven't forgotten you. In doing a picture for Irvin Willat now, and

fact, when the envelope was handed to before that was working for Marion Fairfax

me I said "Ah — from Esther" right away.
My secretary has been peevish ever since.
Lillian Gish is filming the elder of "The
Two Orphans" for David Wark Griffith
at the Griffith studios in Mamaroneck.
There is a story about that play in this
issue of Photoplay. Miss Gish has had
many offers to go on the stage, I under-
stand, including one from Arnold Daly
who wanted her to be his leading woman
at the Greenwich Village Theater in
Ibsen's and other plays; but she refused.
Joseph Schildkraut, her leading man in
the current Griffith picture, would like to
have her play "Romeo and Juliet" with
him, on the stage. But so far the beautiful
Lillian has not mad: any definite plans.

and before that did a number of photo-
plays under the eminent direction of Mar-
shall Neilan. She is not married, or en-
gaged, or in love, that I know of. But
then, perhaps Marjorie doesn't feel it her
duty to confide in me. I have met her,
and she sent me a Christmas card last
year, and so I like her very much.

Bob, Hartford. — Dimples, deep brown
eyes, pearly teeth, and nice bobbed hair
never made a film star. But I must ad-
mit that they all help. Carl Gantvoort
in "The Man of the Forest." His address
is the B. B. Hampton Productions.
(Continued on page 12,0)

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A Poor Relation

{Continued from page 38)

chance, but once Rip and Patch were com-
mitted, so to speak, the situation was on
terra firma. Uncle Noah threatened them
with his eyes. Rip ran his tongue carefully
about his cheeks before answering. There
might be a migratory crumb. Then:

"Yes, Uncle Noah," said Rip.

"Yes, Uncle Noah," said Patch.

Noah Yale hugged his philosophy to him.
What though he starved? What though the
invention prove to be always a gleaming
grail? He had given to Rip and Patch the
stuff of heroism. A greater gift has no man
than this.

"Oh," Dolly was saying, "then — Rip and
Patch aren't your own children?"

Noah Yale smiled. "They are — and they
are not," he said. "But I should say more
that they are than that they are not. They
are by way of being a heritage."

"How splendid of you to care for them!"
Dolly said. All at once it seemed to her as
though there was nothing beautiful in the
whole room, the whole house, the whole
world, save a hungry, sad man and two
hungry little children and their hope and
their faith and their pride. . . . Oh, and
Johnny!

Dolly put an arm about each one of the
children. "At least," she said to Noah
Vale, "you can have no objection to my
showing them the flowers and garden."

It wouldn't have made much difference
whether he had objected or not, for Dolly,
grown wise, waited for no reply. The
children were gone and Dolly was back
almost before Noah realized that he had
been caught again.

Dolly came in in perplexity. She turned
appealingly to Noah. "You could help me
out if you would," she said. "The chef and
I have been tuning an argument. He
claims he is in possession of all the honors
when it comes to cooking and I claim that
he is not. This morning we put it to the
test. I cooked chops and muffins and coffee
and he cooked the same. If you're any
judge at all won't you be referee?"

Noah Vale searched for insincerity. But
there was nothing to be ga"ined from Dolly's
expression save the entire eagerness of a
child. The butler wheeled in a tea wagon.
The aroma of chops and muffins and hot
coffee assailed him. Pride goeth before a
muffin. Dolly left him alone.

Noah Vale fell to. "Five minutes more,"
he muttered, "and the verdict would have
been 'Died from starvation !' "

In the kitchen Dolly and the chef were
plaving fairy godmother and fairy godfather
and Rip and Patch, long past delicate con-
siderations, were quite frankly "pigging" it.

Roderick Faye was condescending to
Noah Vale. He was enthusiastic about the
invention. "It would revolutionize in-
dustry," he said, "if it could be proven
practicable." He told Vale he would give
him his decision when his engineers had
tested the device.

Noah Vale went home, well-fed and in the
clouds.

Waiting for the "decision" proved to be
the acid test. Roderick Faye had other
and weightier matters. The light stomach
of an inventor was not among them.

There was a desperate period. "Eating"
stories were hailed with whimpers of shecr
misery. Scollops' odds and ends of fish
were but tantalizers. The fairy godmother
and the white-capped fairy godfather faded
into myths, unrealities, along with the
stories. . . . Mouths can water any facts
into fiction.

Noah Vale sagged under "The Decline
and Fall of Rome." His invention seemed
to be sagging in with him. He even lost
interest in the model. It taunted him now

to take it out and finger it. He had ex-
plained its intricacies and simplicities to Rip
and Patch until they were worn, like his
patience, threadbare. He let it alone.

When, two weeks later, the landlord,
disregarding the allurements of Scollops,
threatened to evict him his protests were
hollow.

In the midst of the scene, Mr. Sterrett,
representing Mr. Faye, walked in, accom-
panied by Engineer Jones.

"We have come, Mr. Vale," said Sterrett,
"to inspect your model. Mr. Jones here
is exceedingly interested."

It seemed magical. To Noah Vale the
great moment had struck. Here, in his
valley of humiliation, literally into it,
walked power and recognition and poten-
tial wealth.

He found his way to the cupboard, where
the shining hope was kept, with feet not
quite steady. His hands fumbled with the
lock. He felt, suddenly, incongruously per-
haps, that he was growing old. That
wealth and power had come to him none
too soon. He tried to stiffen up his
shoulders. He felt that the situation
called for some display on his part. The
inventor of the model should not be old
Noah Vale, sagging under the fall of Rome.
The inventor should be erect, inspired and
inspiring.

Rip's breathing was audible. Rip had
a sense of great moments. Scollops could
be heard snuffling. She had a cold.

Noah Vale flung wide the sacred shrine.

It was empty.

Quite empty.

There seemed no particular change in
his attitude. His shoulders still slumped a
little. He turned about slowly. Heard
Sterrett say, "What's this, Vale?" in
silence. Heard the landlord say, "This is
the end of the gaff — out you go!" also in
silence. After all, what did it matter . . .
the darkest cloud . . . but what a dawn
. . . what a long, slow dawn . . .

Then they were alone.

After a while they were quite alone. Even
the furniture left them, profanely and
wrathfully, with mutterings and impre-
cations.

Noah Vale was handy with his hands.
He whistled in a sort of a way when, that
night, he improvised a box for himself and
Rip and Patch. He said they were "babes
in the box." He managed to get a wan
smile from Patch. He suspected it evolved
from courage rather than gaiety. Game
little girl!

In the morning Scollops found them.

Her amazement outran her vocabulary,
but Scollops knew the magic passport to
the Yale family. "Come on home, the
crazy lot o' you," she said, "and I'll fry
yer a bit o' fish I got left over. The waste of
me! Come along, the idjit lot o' yer!"

Scollops was done out of her hospitality.
When the deposed Vale family returned
they found Mr. Sterrett again awaiting
them. He greeted Yale with some cordial-
ity not untempered with condescension.
Si ill ... . He said that he had come
to offer Mr. Vale a "job." The Faye
interests wanted a representative on the
other side of the sea. They offered the
post to Mr. Vale at fifty dollars ... a week.
They were willing to pay a hundred dollars
in advance if acceptance were forthcoming.

Acceptance was. So was a breakfast,
the like of which had never before gladdened
the hearts and stomachs of Scollops, Rip
and Patch. Even the landlord, dazzled
by the hundred dollar bill, assisted in
buying the provisions and also in rein-
stating the Vale Lares and Penates. Mr.
Vale was a foine gentleman. Many's the

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising section

109

A Poor Relation

(Concluded)

toime he's said it. Well, weren't we all
liable to mistakes!

Trays were by way of being rushed in
when Dolly and Johnny came in, too.
Noah Yale bade them to breakfast — but
they didn't hear him.

It wasn't until Rip and Patch and
Scollops had eaten and eaten and eaten
that Dolly and Johnny stepped down to
terra firma and remembered what they
had come for.

The model of the invention, they said,
had been proven impracticable. Noah
Yale never did get quite the rights of the
theft of the model. It was returned to
him and it was worthless. After all, what
more need, a philosopher know? Those
were the essentials. He lingered over a
suspicion of Sterrett. But .... Johnny-
Smith was talking now. Dolly was
hanging on his words. Words . . . sud-
denly it came to Noah Yale what the
young man was saying. Suddenly it
came to Noah Yale that he had been
dreaming a great while and that now,
again with words, healing words, things
were shaping, were co-ordinating. The
cosmos and he were having a miraculous
adjustment.

" I stole your epigrams from the walls —
just for a day," Johnny Smith was saying;
"I knew that if they hit other people the
way they hit me you were a made man.
I took them to a publisher and he nearly
kissed me! The result is that you're to
write all the philosophy you can grind out
at a fancy contract putting you far beyond
all monetary need. Very far. Forget the
invention, my dear man, you're a philos-
opher!"

At breakfast's end two partnerships were
formed and what was by way of being a
triumvirate. The first partnership was
between Noah Vale and his "manager,"
Johnny Smith. The second partnership
was rose-entwined and sweet with bridal-
wreath and to those with ghosts of old
romancing in their hearts needs no further
words. And the triumvirate was between
Rip and Patch — and food.

The Future Great Actor

(Concluded from page 23)

plays it. He can't help doing his best
because that's all he ever does. He hasn't
different speeds.

Lillian Gish, he thinks, is the supreme
artiste of the screen. "She has," he said,
"a very rare gift. She has intelligence,
but she doesn't have to use it when she is
acting. That sounds strange to you.
But Miss Gish acts by instinct. She is
always right. The finest acting I have
ever seen in my life is Lillian Gish's in the
closet scene in 'Broken Blossoms'."

Joseph's ambitions are by no means
small or simple. He would like to see
Griffith do all the plays of Shakespeare,
and film the Bible! He himself wants to
do Oscar Wilde's "The Picture of Dorian
Gray," a version of which he appeared in
abroad; and Romain Rolland's "Jean-
Christophe," which he considers the great
novel of the age.

He is a Roumanian. His father and
mother are both living, — with their son.
His father, Rudolph, is a famous old actor,
who has never, I believe, acted in English.
It is Rudolph, strangely enough, who
advises Joseph to leave the stage for the
screen.

Critics say that he is the future great
actor of his day. In case you can't get
all worked up over that, just look at the
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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Autobiographical Memoirs of M.

{Continued from page 31)

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My duties as valet are not arduous but
extremely delicate — differing of course from
those of a private gentleman's man in that
I am obliged to be with him all day long
at the studio, instead of seeing him off
smartly in the limousine in the morning for
business or pleasure as the case may be.

Mr. Fairbanks' wardrobe is a very large
one. At present, he possesses 60 to 70
suits of clothes, 35 overcoats (he has a
special fondness for this garment and any-
one can sell him any sort of new one), 50
pairs of shoes, to say nothing of outside
footgear such as sneakers, slippers and
boots, 8 to 10 dozen shirts, 19 dozen hand-
kerchiefs, 300 neckties and many dozens
of garments of even more intimate char-
acter which it is not necessary to fully
describe here.

These are used mostly for pictures. In
fact, I may say that all of them, with a very
small exception, are used for pictures. An
excellent dresser before the camera, with
every detail from the tying of his cravat
to the order in which he holds his hat,
gloves and stick correct, it is nevertheless
only right in the interests of truthfulness
to state that in his personal dress Mr.
Fairbanks is governed too much by per-
sonal taste to satisfy the best instincts of
a gentleman's gentleman, if you know what
I mean.

It is not that he does not know. Not
only has he himself an accurate knowledge
of what is and still more important what
is not vogue, but he has me to look after
him.

Therefore it cannot be ignorance but
intention that rubs the bloom of fashion
so often from his personal raiment. " I
wear what I like," is his motto.

In the summer, I am bound to admit,
his garb is governed wholely by the dictates
of comfort, and consists of flannels, a soft
shirt, socks and sneakers, or tennis shoes.
It is seldom that he dons anything else.

The matter of sneakers is a trifle that
may in the future possess vast significance
as a guide to his character. He has in his
boot boxes about 15 pairs of sneakers. So
far as I am able to discern, there is not the
slightest difference between them, as he
buys the same kind always and wears
them alternately. But he always requests
a certain pair of sneakers, designating
them by such phrases as "the pair I wore
day b fore yesterday," or "the pair I wore
when I played tennis with on Saturday."

Often I bring half a dozen pairs — 11 as
alike as so many palm trees — before he
finds, with a sigh of intense satisfaction,
the pa'r he desires.

Only on occ.sion when high moral force
is used, can he be brought to wear full
evening clothes. This, as any valet knows,
is a source of sore trial and disappointment.
Mr. Fairbanks prefers a suit of ordinary
clothes on the few occasions when he and
Mrs. Fairbanks go out. He insists that
his mind works better thus garbed and
that h • feels more like a real human being,
whatever that may be. Mrs. Fairbanks
supports him in this view.

YVhile he owns some 40 hats — I believe
I counted 37 — he wears only on:' which he
has "broken in," to use his quaint phrase,
and two or three caps to which he is pas-
sionately devoted, and which it would be
worth one's life to lose or misplace.

His shoes are a great difficulty owing to
the fact that they cannot weigh over a
pound. And it is especially necessary that
all his clothes be loose and comfortable,
since one is never able to tell when he will
take it into his head to perform those feats
for which he is famous, and those exercises
which he uses to keep himself fit and active.

Here I wish to say that in regard to every

sort of matter about clothes and small
details, Mr. Fairbanks is as helpless as a
child. He could not, I venture to say,
tell you where one single article he owns
is at the present time, even the costumes
he wears in scenes he will enact tomorrow.
If left to himself for a day, I shudder to
think what would become of him. I dare
say he does not even know the name of the
soaps, powders and toothpastes which he
insists upon having but which I always
arrange for him. He uses, to illustrate,
four kinds of shaving soap, any one of
which he may call for when he arrives at
the studio and wishes to shave. I have
for some months endeavored by a process
of mental concentration and psychological
elimination to guess which he will call for.
I have failed thus far.

It is interesting here to note that Mr.
Fairbanks prefers and nearly always does
shave himself. This, I believe, is due to
his nervous inability to hold still — and the
fear of what might happen if a barber were
compelled to leap and follow him about
the room as I do.

He arises at inconceivably early hours.
He eats no breakfast ether than coffee and
either a bit of fruit or a slice of toast —
never both — which I serve him in his room
as soon as he has finished his hot and cold
baths. Mrs. Fairbanks also eats only
fruit, so we are generally able to leave the
house for the studio by 7:30 and arrive at
the studio by 8, quite early hours of course
for a valet, but life is a school where one
must train oneself to what is best. Mr.
and Mrs. Fairbanks drive to the studios in
their limousine, the maid and I following
in the service car.

As soon as we have entered Mr. Fair-
banks' suite at the studio — which consists
of drawing room, dressing room and bath —
and he has disrobed, he weighs in. It is
characteristic of his exactitude that he
always keeps a given weight during a
picture. He is, for instance playing
"D'Artagnan" ten pounds lighter than
he did "Zorro. " He weighs in again at
night, often to find he has lost a quarter
of a pound in the day's labor which he must
put back on that night.

He may consider that I am a trifle over-
zealous concerning his make-up, which I
oversee each morning. But he is inclined
to "slap it on," being always in such a
violent hurry. Especially since we began
"The Three Musketeers" has this period
of the day been one to try our souls. While
realizing artistically the importance of the
waxing of the mustache, Mr. Fairbanks is
inclined to take it with somewhat of levity.
He insists upon calling the expensive
pomade which it took me weeks to secure,
"cream of celery soup."

During the day, I am his second self upon
the set. I carry with me a large box, with
legs that set up like a little table — a gift
to us, by the way, from Mrs. Fairbanks.
This contains everything that I can forsee
his needing.

At noon, I glance over the table set in
the flowered pavilion where Mr. and Mrs.
Fairbanks always lunch together, to see
that everything is absolutely correct, and
to be certain that the chef has prepared
everything as Mr. Fairbanks likes it.
Servants are so apt to be unreliable. This
done, I am free to prepare for the afternoon.

It is my duty, of course, to keep absolute
track of everything worn by Mr. Fairbanks
in every scene. I — and only I — know just
what shade of velvet costume, just what
plumed hat, just what ornaments go with
each scene, each sequence. Morning, noon,
and evening I consult with the director .i-
to what scenes are to be shot during tin
coming hours, so that I ma}- have the

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Autobiographical
oirs of M

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Mem

GENUINE

III

(Continued)

needed sartorial effects prepared.

When the day's work is finished, I pre-
pare the bath, and lay in readiness his
street regalia. While I scrub Mr. Fair-
banks, he very often holds important busi-
ness conferences or discusses the next day's
continuity with his scenario writer or sees
pressing people. This makes my task very
difficult, as he is apt to become excited and
gesticulate wildly with various portions of
his anatomy which I may at that very
moment be striving to cleanse. His philos-
ophy of never wasting a moment is excel
lent, but for a valet it is not one of unmixed
joy.

A recent occurrence will show how Prov-
idence often clears a path for us when
things look darkest. For some time, I had
been in despair over the appearance of our
rooms. Piled in heaps all about were
letters, books, papers, pictures of one sort
and another which I could not destroy or
make way with without Mr. Fairbanks'
permission. Which permission I had never
been able to gain.

Yesterday, Mis. Fairbanks dropped in.

"Joe," said she, when with her usual
daintiness she had glanced about, "things
are not very tidy here."*

"No, Mrs, Fairbanks," I replied with
dignity, "nor can they be until Mr. Fair-
banks decides what he wishes done with
those things."

Mr. Fairbanks coming in then, I dis-
appeared to leave them alone, such small
matters of delicacy being the mark of your
true valet. When I returned I found to
my joy, that his wife had prevailed — as she
mostly does — and that she had cleared out
the clutterings of months. She had a
regular house cleaning, with her own hands,
and she pulled down the curtains and
ordered me to order clean ones up at the
house. So that I may now maintain our
rooms somewhat in the style to which I
have been accustomed.

Another matter in which Mrs. Fairbanks
has brought help to me in my capacity.
One day she said to me, "Joe, I want you
to buy Mr. Fairbanks a little note book
and a pencil — a real nice one, please. He
should carry one. He loses many valuable
thoughts because he has not a pencil and
paper handy to write them down."*

I may be believed or not when I say I
was dubious. I even went so far as to tell
Mrs. Fairbanks I doubted very much if her
husband could be brought to carry it —
with his strange prejudice against carrying
things.

But she only smiled. I got the note
book.

Mr. Fairbanks was as positive as one
may well be that he would never carry thai
book. He told me so. "I know Pll never
carry it," he said.

But somehow, Mrs. Fairbanks won him
over. He now makes a great point of
carrying and using his little note book,
because she gave it to him.

Which shows, if I may say so, that a
great man is as human as the rest of us
where his wife is concerned. And indeed
it would be hard to imagine anyone re-
fusing Mrs. Fairbanks anything.

Mr. Fairbanks is very prone to become
enamoured of some new exercise. Never
shall I forget when that athletic feat called
pole vaulting became his idol. At present,
it is bicycle riding, which he took up be-
cause he wished to reduce for "The Three
Musketeers." He is now ten pounds
lighter than he has been in several years.
Daily he rode long distances on his bicycle,
*Mrs. Fairbanks' own words.

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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

112

I~ .HOI Of LAY lVIAUAZlJNIi AUVLKLlMiNlj ObCTlOJN

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Address

City and State .

Autobiographical Mem'
oirs of M

(Concluded)

and never at any time was I able to make
him don the proper bicycling clothes.

In the morning, upon arising, he invari-
ably takes the standard Army setting up
exercises, these being the only set forms
which he follows. Likewise he swims in
the pool at the house, and does many
stunts of all kinds.

If I may be forgiven for introducing the
lighter touch, I shall set down here one
little joke that is a favorite of Mr. Fair-
banks' and that has been the cause of much
innocent amusement to him. He has in
his dressing room, near his dressing table, a
chair furnished underneath with an electric
shock battery, which when operated by
pushing a button on the dressing table
causes the person seated at the moment in
the chair a good deal of inconvenience.
Many distinguished visitors have sat in
that chair and the ensuing activities have
been such that I have more than once lost
the perfect poise a valet should pride him-
self upon and have been forced to laugh.

Whether or not in this short space I have
accomplished my object, set forth at length
in the opening of my manuscript, only my
readers can tell. But if I have somewhat
enlightened you as to Mr. Fairbanks, in
particular, motion picture stars in general
and, modestly I hope, myself, I shall be
glad that my labor has not been lost.

The Shadow Stage

(Continued from page 63)

PERJURY— Fox

THE plot of "Perjury" centers about
William Farnum's chest and neck de-
velopment. The action lasts through
twenty turbulent years, and there is never
a moment during that time when Mr.
Farnum is not expanding his chest to the
breaking point. It is a foregone conclusion
that something will snap before the finish.
Mr. Farnum holds up well, but the audience
cracks under the strain.

BIG GAME— Metro

A THIN and obvious story. Should have
been done in two reels or, better still,
not at all. May Allison as a "peppy" wife
undertakes to make a he-man out of a thin-
blooded, aristocratic husband. She un-
naturally succeeds. As a comedy it's a good
tragedy and vice versa.

NAME THE DAY— Rolin-Pathe

THIS may not be the month's worst
comedy. We have not seen all of them.
It is a dreadfully stupid affair, with Snub
Pollard in the leading role, whatever that is.
The only bright spot is "Snowball," a
diminutive darky, who used to play with
Harold Lloyd. Marie Mosquini was said
to be leaving comedy for drama. She
should.

A TRIP TO PARADISE— Metro

LOVERS of "Liliom" may wail and gnash
j their teeth at this picturization of
Franz Molnar's play, but others will prob-
ably enjoy it. It is very little like the
original. It is a fairly entertaining
"movie." Bert Lytell is not a Joseph
Schildkraut, and Virginia Valli is hardly an
Eva Le Gallienne. But Mr. Lytell does
good work and Miss Valli is her usual de-
lightful and pretty self. Not bad; not good,
but not bad.

Studio Directory

ASSOCIATED PRODUCERS, INC.,
729 Seventh Ave., N. Y.

(s) Maurice Tourneur, Culver City, Cal.
(s) Thos. H. Ince, Culver City. Cal.

J. Parker Read, Jr., Ince Studios, Culver
City, Cal.
(s) Mack Sennett, Edenda!e, Cal.
(s) Marshall Neilan, Goldwyn Studios, Culver
City, Cal.

(s) Allan Dwan, Hollywood Studios, 6642

Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.
(S) King Vidor Productions, 7200 Santa

Monica Blvd.. Hollywood, Cal.
(s) J. I,. Frothingham, Prod., Brunton Studios,
5300 Melrose Ave., Hollywood, Cal.
BLACKTON PRODUCTIONS, INC., Bush House

Aldwych, Strand, London, England.
ROBERT BRUNTON STUDIOS, 5341 Melrose

Ave., Hollywood, Cal.
CHRISTIE FILM CORP., 6101 Sunset

Hollywood, Cal.
EDUCATIONAL FILMS CORP ,
370 Seventh Ave., N. Y. C.

FAMOUS-PLAYERS-I.ASKY CORP, Paramount
485 Fifth Ave., New York City,
(s) Pierce Ave. and Sixth St., Long Island City

New York
(s) Lasky, Hollywood, Cal.

British Paramount (s) Poole St., Islington,
N. London, England.
Realart. 469 Fifth Ave., New York City.
(s) 211 N. Occidental Blvd., Los Angeles, Cal.
FIRST NATIONAL EXHIBITORS' CIRCUIT.
INC., 6 West 48th St., New York.

R. A. Walsh Prod., 5341 Melrose Ave.,
Hollywood, Cal.

Louis

Blvd.,

of America.

(s) 1845 Alessandro St.,
New

Mr. and Mrs. Carter De Haven. Prod.,
B. Mayer Studios, Los Angeles,
(s) Buster Keaton Comedies. 1025 Lillian Way,
Hollywood, Cal.

Anita Stewart Co , 3800 Mission Road, Los

Angeles, Cal.
Louis B. Mayer Productions, 3800 Mission

Road, Los Angeles, Cal.
(s) Allen Holubar, 1510 Laurel Ave.. Hollywood,

Cal.
Norma and Constance Talmadge Studio

318 East 48th St., New York
Katherine MacDonald Productions. Georgia

and Girard Sts., Los Angeles. Cal.
David M. Hartford, Prod., 3274 West 6th St.,

Los Angeles, Cal.

Hope Hampton, Prod., Peerless Studios.
Fort Lee. N J.
(s) Chas. Ray. 1428 Fleming St., Los Angeles.
Richard Barthelmoss Inspiration Coro., 565
Fifth Ave., N. Y. C.
FOX FILM CORP.. (s) 1 0th Ave and 55th St.,
New York; (s) 1401 Western Ave., Hollywood,
Cal.
GARSON STUDIOS, INC ,

Edendale, Cal.
GOLDWYN FILM CORP.. 469 Fifth Ave

York; (s) Culv r City, Cal.
HAMPTON. JESSE B., STUDIOS. 1425 Fleming

St.. Hollywood. Cal.
HART, WM. S. PRODUCTIONS, (s) 1215 Bates

St., Hollywood, Cal.
LOIS WEBER STUDIOS,

Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.
HOLLYWOOD STUDTOS,

Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.
INTERNATIONAL FILMS, INC., 729 Seventh
Ave., N. Y. C. (s) Second Ave. and 127th St..
N. Y.
METRO PICTURES CORP., 1476 Broadway, New
York: (s) 3 West 01st St., New York, and
Romaine and Cahuenga Ave., Hollywood, Cal.
PATHE EXCHANGE, Pathe Bldg., 35 W. 45th St.,
New York, (s) Geo. B. Seitz. 134th St. and
Park Ave., New York City.
R-C PICTURES PRODUCTIONS. 723 Seventh
Ave., New York; Currier Bldg.. Los Angeles;
(s) corner Gower and Melrose Sts., Hollywood,
Cal.
ROTH ACKER FILM MFG. CO., 1339 Diversey

Parkway, Chicago, 111.
SELZNICK PICTURES CORP., 729 Seventh Ave..
New York; (s) 807 East 1 75th St., New York, and
West Fort Lee, N. J.
UNITED ARTISTS CORPORATION, 729 Seventh
Ave., New York.

Mary Pickford Co . Brunton Studios, Holly-
wood, Cal.; Douglas Fairbanks Studios,
Hollywood, Cal.: Charles Chanlin Studios.
1416 LaBrea Ave., Hollywood. Cal.
D. W. Griffith Studios, Orienta Point, Mama-

roneck, N. Y.
Rex Beach, Whitman Bennett Studio, 537
Riverdale Ave.. Yonkers, New York; Geo.
Arliss. Prod., Distinctive Prod., Inc.. 366
Madison Ave.. N. Y.
UNIVERSAL FILM MFG. CO.. 1600 Broadway,

New York: (s) Universal City. Cal.
VITAGRAPH COMPANY OF AMERICA. 469
Fifth Ave., New York; (s) East 15th St. and
Locust Ave.. Brooklyn. N. Y., and 1708 Tal-
madge St., Hollywood, Cal.

4634 Santa Monica
6642 Santa Monica

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

The Shadow Stage

(Concluded)

SHAME— Fox

WHEN the hero oi "Shame"' hears that
his mother was Chinese, he immedi-
ately dashes to the mirror and sees himself
reflected with almond eyes, long nails and a
laundry. The thought drives him almost
insane, so he goes to Alaska and fights a
wolf. "Shame" is well directed and con
sistently exciting.

QUO VADIS— Kleine-Warren

THE cutter's shears show their mark upon
the 1021 re-issue of this Italian film. A
screen masterpiece in L913, it is remarkable
now only for some bits of unusual acting
and one or two magnificent sets. Con-
tinuity is choppy and fragmentary, and the
love story of Petronius and the slave
Eunice, itself a classic, has been shorn to
make room for a "happy ending." A
mutilated masterpiece.

THE BLOT— Weber-Warren

OR "Do Schoolteachers Eat?" Ap-
parently not, according to Lois Weber,
who here pictures a starving professor, his

oe;

wife and daughter, Claire Windsor, in a
series of pathetic episodes. Luckily the
rich young college lad, Louis Calhern, ap-
pears iuM in time with roast chicken and a
wedding ring. Typical Weber exaggera-
tion, and rather tiresome. Censor proof.

THERE ARE NO VILLAINS—
Metro

course there was one. Otherwise,
what would the poor scenario write]
have done? He smuggles opium (the villain,
you know) and Viola Dana suspects Gaston
Glass. You'll probably be more clever than
she, and discover how it's all going to end
during the first reel. Just a motion picture.

OPENED SHUTTERS— Universal

ONE of the numerous "Miracle Man"
trailers, and as much of a failure as
other photoplays imitating this great
original have been. Several chapters from
Mary Baker Eddy's works are distributed
through the sub-titles, the heroine, Edith
Roberts, finally ridding herself of all
erroneous thought, with Edward Burns her
reward. Next?

.4'fvm..i

"Have you muck of
Leading Man — "No-

part in this picture?
-I m just filling in between the stars' close-ups!

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(Continued from page 28)

And you — sixty-four years old and don't
look no older than what you did when I
was treasurer — lemme see — you an' Tom
was starring in 'Livery Stable Knights'
then."

Dave Brannon sank back luxuriously in
the big overstuffed easy chair. He was tired
— mighty tired after thirty-two consecutive
weeks on the road.

"Might look young, Moe — but I'm be-
ginning to feel the years."

"Well, that's natural, ain't it? I ask you?
Who should expect it a man of sixty-four
to be a kid and kick up his heels after slam-
min' around like Tom Craig an' you have
been doin'? What you need, Dave — " and
Moe's eyes narrowed slightly — "is about a
twelve months' run on Broadway."

Dave smiled. "Yeh?"

"Sure. An' then about six months in
Chi — an' mebbe four-five in Boston an'
about three in Philly." He paused.
"Sound good?"

"And after that?" questioned Dave
Brannon.

"Oh! after that — whatever you'd want.
If you wasn't anxious to go back on the
road ..."

" Me and Tom ain't hankering to quit the
road. Say! we celebrated our fortieth anni-
versary together in Birmingham. Started
out as a team in that very burg — gosh ! it
was long ago. Forty years . . . an' there
ain't been a month of it that Tom Craig
ain't been makin' me take the long end.
Says I'm older'n he is." Dave chuckled.
"You'd think he was a young rooster
instead of bein' sixty himself."

Blumenthal pressed a cigar upon the
veteran comedian. "Try this — and say:
how about doin' me a favor? "

"Sure."

The producer reached into a desk drawer
and produced a play manuscript. "Take it
to your hotel and give it the once-over.
Come back tomorrow and tell me what you
think of it!"

"Well ..." Brannon rose, holding the
script uncertainly. "The idea is — "

"There ain't no idea, Dave. Just read it,
and lemme know howit hits you. That's
all I wanted with you. Now beat it — I'm
busy: busy something terrible!"

At precisely nine minutes past midnight
that night Dave Brannon reverently closed
the manuscript and placed it gently on the
table. Then, moving quietly, as though
fearful of destroying a magic spell, he
switched off the light, pulled his chair to the
window and gazed unseeing across the light-
studded blackness which was Central Park.

Now Dave Brannon understood. Com-
prehension had come to him with the smash-
ing first act curtain — a marvelous dramatic
climax which his forty years of training
made as plain to him as though in attend-
ance at a triumphant premiere. Before
the first scene of the second act was com-
pleted he knew that Moe Blumenthal had
placed in his hands as great a play as has
ever been written in modern times. And he
knew why Moe had done it in this way:
Keen Moe Blumenthal — wise Moe Blumen-
thal— understanding perfectly the psychol-
ogy of the actor.

Not only was it a great play, but it was a
novelty Its plot — briny with tears, jew-
eled with laughter, knit with terrific sus-
pense which was drama and melodrama in
one — was builded around the character of
an old negro man: a simple, wistful old fel-
low, permeated with the rib-tickling racial
humor and the infinite pathos of those who
are black and live among whites.

Through four masterful acts — product of
the pen of a hitherto unknown author —
faltered this tragic figure: now uttering lines
which were certain to rock the audience with

laughter, now buffeted by the stark mis-
chance of a Fate which he could not under-
stand: blundering along in his simple, wist-
ful way to a simple, wistful climax which
brought a smile through the tears which
were in the eyes of Dave Brannon.

It was his part, a part that fitted him as
did his famous smile. No one but Aloe
Blumenthal would have thought of Dave
Brannon for that dramatic role: no pro-
ducer save Moe Blumenthal had the percep-
tion to see that Dave Brannon and no other
man on the American stage — save perhaps
Tom Craig — could step before a first night
audience and sweep it from its feet to an
epochal success. No one but Moe Blumen-
thal could have known that Dave Brannon
was an actor — a truly great actor — an actor
w-ho knew his stage and its drama as well as
its comedy.

Dave found himself trembling from head
to foot. He saw himself in that role: knew
that it meant a climax to a stage career
which would live forever — if only because of
that climax. It was an opportunity which
comes to some actors once: to most actors,
never. It was the " Cyrano de Bergerac " of
Mansfield, the "Hamlet" of Booth, the
"Music Master" of Warfield. A great
yearning to play this part was born in the
breast of Dave Brannon, a yearning whose
motif was that omnipresent desire of all
comedians to essay serious drama. He
envisioned himself on the stage at the con-
clusion of the magnificent third act — Dave
Brannon hailed as an artist . . . And then,
quite suddenly, Dave Brannon did a strange
thing. He rose and walked angrily to the
electric switch. The room was bathed in
light! Brannon wrapped trembling fingers
about the manuscript and hurled it viciously
into a corner.

He had remembered that in that play
there was no part for Tom Craig!

Dave Brannon was haggard of face and
unusually bright of eye when he seated
himself in Moe Blumenthal's office the
following morning. He exhibited all the
physical symptoms of nervousness which
come to a man who has passed a sleepless
night. And Blumenthal, watching, won-
dered. He let his eye wander to the sacred
manuscript in Brannon's hand, nor did he
comment when the old actor placed it
reverently and wordlessly on the desk.

For three minutes the silence held, and
finally Blumenthal could stand it no longer.

"Well, Dave, what did you think of it?"

Brannon's voice was husky. "It is the
greatest play ever written."

','That nigger part, Dave — we ain't got it
a man on the stage today who can play it —
only you."

The actor struggled manfully to make
his words casual. He might have succeeded
with a person less keen than Moe Blumen-
thal:— "Kind of tough on you, Moe."

"You mean, Dave, you ain't gonna
play it?"

1 Reckon it looks that way."

Blumenthal waved toward the script.
"The man which plays that part, Dave;
his grandchildren are gonna be reading
about him out of books."

"I know it, Moe; I know it. But I can't
play it."

Blumenthal was growing worried. Here
was a rialto phenomenon; an actor refusing
an opportunity for which any other actor
would have given ten years of his life.
"Maybe you think on account you've al-
ways pla\ed comedy parts. ..."

"It ain't that, Moe."

"Then what is it? That you're crazy,
maybe?"

"No-o." Brannon chose his words with
care: "Only all the time I was reading that

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The End of the Road

(Continued)

that

lade a

script, Moe — I knew

mistake."

"A mistake? A mistake you tell me 1
made?" Blumenthal was growing excited.
He knew that he was tactless, but he
couldn't control himself. "I made it how,
a mistake? Answer me that?"

"You were wrong in thinking I was the
man to play that part."

"Cy. . .'. "

"The man for that part, Moe, is Tom
Craig!"

Moe Blumenthal subsided suddenly; a»i
expression of infinite relief crossing his
features. "So-o! Tom Craig is it I made a
mistake about? Well, I tell you, Mister
Dave Brannon, I didn't make it no mistake
about him at all, see? Because when I read
that play, Dave, I took it out of my pocket
a quarter and I flipped it up in the air, and
I said to myself, I said: 'Heads I get Tom
Craig to play that part, and tails I get
Dave Brannon to play it.' And, Dave, it
come tails!"

Brannon shook his head. "No. It fell
heads!"

There was a light of homage in the glance
Blumenthal bestowed upon the old actor.
"For one friend like you, Dave Brannon, a
million dollars I'd give — only that would be
too cheap." A pause, and then: "Suppose
you can't get Tom to play it on account he's
thinking, too, that for forty years him and
you has been partners?"

"I'll make him play the part," asserted
Dave Brannon positively. "I'll make him
play it!"

"In that there play," said the producer,
after a short, embarrassed pause, "the
author has wrote a little part — a colored
butler. Who you would suggest I should
get to play that part, Dave, if Tom Craig
plays the lead?"

And Dave Brannon looked the producer
squarely in the eye as he answered.

" I'll play the butler, Moe. I'll play him

myself!"

*****

The sun dropped slowly out of sight
beyond the Palisades and twilight en-
shrouded Central Park; twilight broken
here and there by the flash of auto head-
lights, by the garish lampposts scattered
along the walkways, by the radiance which
appeared as by magic from the windows of
apartment houses.

But there was no light in the hotel room
in which sat Dave Brannon and Tom
Craig. The manuscript of the play lay on
the table beside Craig. For fifteen minutes
neither man had spoken; neither could trust
himself. And finally Craig rose and crossed
to the window where he stood looking down
— as through a mist — upon the purple
velvet of coming night.

But Tom Craig did not see the darkening
park nor did he hear the siren shriek of
automobiles nor the raucous clangor of
street cars. He saw only the road — the
road of forty years— a long road sentinelled
by musty, draughty theaters; poor hotels,
second-rate lunch rooms . . . then later
by better hotels and better restaurants and
Pullman drawing rooms in place of body-
wTacking day coach seats through long,
weary nights of travel. And on this road
of the past he envisioned himself: first as a
boy, filled with a boy's effervescent en-
thusiasms, later as a man, and still later as
an old man; and beside him always the tall,
slender figure of Dave Brannon — doubling
the zest of triumph, halving the pain of
tribulation. And, finally, the road of his
vision led to the present; to the hotel room
quiet in the twilight, to the figure of his
partner slumped in the easy chair. He
turned from the window — spoke gently.

"I can't do it, Dave, and you know it."

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"You must do it, Tom. I
Blumenthal. ..."

"You had no right to promise Blumenthal.
For forty years we've been Brannon and
Craig. To my mind there isn't any Brannon
and there isn't any Craig. There isn't any
two names; Brannon & Craig is one name —
it means one thing, and — and — well, if it's
left to me, Dave — it'll always be just
that."

"You play this part, Tom, and the name
of Tom Craig is going to mean more than
Brannon & Craig ever meant."

"I'll never break up the team, Dave.
Never."

Brannon rose and switched on the lights.
He crossed the room and stood before his
partner; slightly taller, considerably more
slender, with hair more touched with the
snow of age. He placed both hands on
Craig's shoulders and compelled his gaze.

"Forty years we've been together, Tom.
We've had a lot of success — and we've had
a lot of trouble. There were times when a
little bit of a lie — the whitest sort of a
white lie — would have helped us both a
good deal. Have you ever known me to tell
even that sort of a lie, Tom?"

Craig shook his head. "No-o. . .

"Well, listen to me — because I'm not
lying now. If you don't accept that part —
and let him star you — I'll give out a notice
to every paper in town that the team of
Brannon & Craig has been disbanded.
That I will do, Tom — so help me God!"

"No — no! You don't mean that, Dave.
You wouldn't do a thing like that!"

"I would, Tom. You know I would."

Tom Craig sank slowly into the chair and
covered his face with his hands. A sob
shook his frame . . . and the hand of
Dave Brannon fell — gently as a woman's —
on his shoulder.

"There's no use taking it that way, Tom.
It's got to be."

And Tom nodded heavily. His voice
came to the other as from a distance —

"Yes, Dave — if you say so — it's got

to be!"

*****

IT was a toothsome morsel for the press,
and at the Lambs and Friars clubs a good
deal of speculation was bartered. They
knew it was good — something big — because
Moe Blumenthal was personally directing
rehearsals, and also because Moe had lost
his habitual smile . . . giving rein to a
great nervousness.

Tom Craig was being starred; that much
was published broadcast to New York with
the appearance of lithographed 24-sheets.
The lithography itself was an unusual
procedure and an index to Blumenthal's
state of mind — for a new show usually
makes its billboard bow with plain block
printing. Not so this one — "The Wrack"
was advertised to the world in seven colors
and Moe Blumenthal cheerfully paid a
lithographer's bill of nearly five thousand
dollars.

Yet it wasn't the play and it wasn't the
starring of Tom Craig which set the rialto
a-babble with gossip. What aroused the
chief interest was the appearance of Dave
Brannon in a minor role. Here was some-
thing unique; a circumstance quite beyond
the ken of any actor. . . . "Tom Craig
in John Erskine's four act drama 'The
Wrack' with a great cast including Dave
Brannon." That was the way the billing
ran, and Broadway could understand all
save the Dave Brannon part.

For the first two weeks the company of
eleven persons rehearsed morning and after-
noon. Then for two additional weeks night
rehearsal was added to the daily routine.
Moe Blumenthal was reduced to the verge
of a physical wreck. His business office was

The End of the Road

(Continued)
promised at a standstill

He denied himself to re-
porters and refused to talk with the ticket
agencies which approached him relative to
the matter of an advance buy.

"I ain't gonna need no buy for this show.
It'll run for two years."

They wanted to know where he intended
to try out. He startled them by pointing
to the new Belvedere theater on the opposite
side of Forty-second street. "Right there
I try it out."

"What? You're going to open cold in
New York?"

' "No!" snapped Blumenthal, "I'm gonna
open hot!"

The house was sold out two hours after
tickets went on sale at the box office. The
critics were keenly interested. They
couldn't conceive Tom Craig as anything
save a blackface buffoon and they had
heard rumors that this was a serious play.
What with that virtual certainty, the pres-
ence of Dave Brannon in a minor role, and
Moe Blumenthal's lavishness in the way of
preliminary heraldry — they knew that —
good or bad — something worth witnessing
was in store.

It was an eager, puzzled, hypercritical
crowd which taxed the capacity of the Belvi-
dere when the curtain rose. It was a
friendly crowd, too — just as all first night
crowds are friendly — but it was there de-
manding to be shown; expecting a super-
performance, inclined to be testy if disap-
pointed.

The entrance of Dave Brannon, as an
old negro servitor, came early in the first
act. He was greeted with a burst of
spontaneous applause. He spoke his few
conventional lines and made his exit, left.
Standing in the wings was Tom Craig.

Side by side stood the two old men ;
faces masked by the familiar burnt cork —
as they had been for forty years. Yet
tonight they made their appearances on the
same stage in the same show — and it was no
longer "Brannon & Craig." Tonight it was
Tom Craig who was starred; Dave Brannon
in his supporting company. And there
were tears in the eyes of Tom Craig as the
actors on stage worked toward his entrance
cue.

"I wish I hadn't ..."

"It's our big night, Tom; our night —
because I'm happier than you. ..."

"I'm miserable, Dave — awful miser-
able. . ."

Then he was on stage; thoroughly the
actor at sound of his cue, shambling on in
perfect character as the shiftless, lazy, ante-
bellum negro. The crowd roared its ac-
claim; applauding not the Tom Craig they
had known of old but the new Tom Craig —
the supreme actor in every move. . . a
great actor assured of his triumph.

And then — the play. It started slowly,
lightly, delicately; a thing of evident — but
not obvious — potentialities; liberally sprin-
kled with laughter. . . pregnant with an
atmosphere of something wonderful to come.
And it came; magnificently. There was the
shuffling, shambling, wistful figure — the
sudden breaking of the storm over his gray
head — the dumb helplessness of his tableau
at the curtain. . . and Moe Blumenthal,
witnessing the tomblike silence with its
sequel of a tidal wave of applause — knew
that he had won an even greater victory
than he had dared prophesy.

From there on the play was cumulative;
mounting in magnificence and dramatic in-
tensity. Even the hardened critics out
front forgot to be critical; they were leaning
forward in their seats drinking in every word,
missing no bit of masterly action. And al-
ways there was the simple, tragic figure of
Tom Craig — hopelessly buffeted by a fate
he could not fathom, alone — terribly alone —

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The End of the Road

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searching vainly for the friendliness which
had always been his — always until now
.... a stark figure who might have
stepped from a Greek tragedy; epic in his
wistfulness, superb in his grief.

There were no curtain calls after the big
third act, but there was an unprecedented
tribute in the very silence of the audience.
Here was a play— here an exhibition of
dramatic art— too great for mere hand-
clapping. But, after the curtain fell upon
the last act, the audience gave vent to its
pentup emotions. . . .

And here was no ordinary applause; here
no milk-and-water clapping of hands. The
audience rose to its feet and screamed;
screamed and stamped . . . and a single
name chorused toward the stage:

"Craig! Tom Craig!"

In the wings stood Tom Craig. He was
trembling like a leaf. He felt as though his
knees could not support him and he put his
weight gratefully upon the encircling arm
of Dave Brannon.

Dave was frankly crying— "It's the night
I've dreamed of, Tom. You've done it —
you've done.it. You're the greatest actor
in America. . . . '

"Craig! Craig! Tom Craig!"

The call beat upon the empty stage;
hammered against Tom's eardrums. In the
wings across the stage Moe Blumenthal was
leaping hysterically about like a jumping-
jack, motioning Tom to take his call. And
Dave tried to push him forward into the
glare of the footlights, but Tom fought him
back almost viciously.

The din of the spectators continued; it
increased in volume. It could be heard on
Broadway, a half block away, over the roar
of the after-theater traffic. And always the
name— "Tom Craig! Where is Tom
Craig?"

But the old actor did not appear; it was
as though he did not hear— did not recog-
nize— his name. And then — as the ap-
plause stilled for a brief moment — came a
call from the middle of the house; a call
which had been heard in every theater in
America at some time during the past forty
years; it made itself heard above the
roar. ...

"Brannon ar.d Craig! Brannon and
Craig!"

And then Tom Craig heard. It was one
name— Brannon & Craig. To him there
was no Craig and no Brannon. He took
Dave Brannon by the hand and together
the partners of forty years stepped out to
face their triumph never to be equalled in
the history of the stage. And this time the
name was the one name which both men
recognized.

"Brannon and Craig!" came the superbly
unanimous tribute — "Brannon and Craig!"

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Vamp

s of All Times

{Continued from page 91)

affidavit to that effect by the grateful Ra,
she began to be worshipped in every zareba
from Fashoda to the Delta, and a crop of
temples sprang up in her honor like mush-
rooms after a rain.

A word would not be amiss here about
Isis's wardrobe as a goddess. Aphrodite,
who found clothing of any sort not only
inconvenient but suggestive, presents one
extreme of fashion. Fricca, her German
cousin, who, owing to the extreme cold of
her Northern home, was always bundled up
in coarse woolen clothing, presents the
other extreme.

Isis, when she became the first lady of
Egypt, hit upon a happy medium between
these two sartorial extremes. She affected
clinging little white frocks made of what
Tennyson has called "samite, wonderful."
The fashion set by Isis was followed many
centuries afterward, by Cleopatra, with im-
portant changes in detail suggested by the
most exclusive modistes of Alexandria.
Their designs showed the influence of Mark
Antony, who in Cleopatra's time was the
leading figure in the ladies' garment trade
of Egypt.

Having played a contemptible trick on
the All-Father, Ra, Isis next proceeded to
marry his son Osiris, who afterwards was
elected Chief Justice of the Soul-Under-
world, running on the same ticket with
Recorder Thoth.

Isis and Osiris met on the bank of the Nile
at sunset, but we may be ^assured the
meeting was not accidental, despite Isis's
efforts to make it appear such. It is ap-
parent from a description of her costume
and her appearance when she first burst
upon the view of the susceptible son of Ra,
that she must have put some time and
thought into the meeting.

Dr. F. H. Brooksbank, who has made an
exhaustive study of the event, describes
the enterprising goddess as of a "sweet and
gentle race, fair of skin and tinted rosy red,
the comely figure clad in a robe of clinging
white, and a wealth of chestnut hair that,
when it fell to her feet, covered her as with
a garment and shone in the dying sunlight
like burnished copper."

They set up housekeeping at Thebes,
where an admiring pee-pul soon installed
Osiris as their king, and Isis reigned with
him as his wedded consort.

All might have gone well, and Isis's skill
at doing Chinese puzzles might never have
been called into play, if Osiris's wicked
brother Set, alias Typhon, had not come to
Thebes on a visit. This person, who is
described as short, swarthy, thickset, and
bearing a close facial resemblance to an ape',
was not only avaricious, but he was also
ambitious. He was not only ambitious,
but he was also unscrupulous. He was not
only unscrupulous but he was also amorous.
He conceived a violent passion for his
beautiful, samite-draped sister-in-law as
soon as he had laid his insolent eyes on her
"comely figure."

Set proved to be the sort of man who
would bite the hand that fed him and stub
the toe that kicked him.

Disguising his malicious purposes under
the cloak of brotherly love — and even that
cloak was a present from Osiris — Set one
day induced his brother to join him and
some of his dissolute associates in a game of
"Get-in-the-Box." The main feature of
this game, which Set invented for the
occasion, was a curiously contrived box,
richly studded with pearls and precious
stones. The purpose of the game was to
find out whom the box would fit most
closely.

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[Continued)

Several of Set's gangsters made an effort
to fit into it, but Set ruled them all out.
When Osiris had been induced to try his
luck and had got into the box, Set promptly
clamped on the lid and nailed it down, while
his friends cheered loudly.

Then they carried the box and set it
afloat on the Nile, and Set went to call on
the widow. But Mrs. Osiris not only re-
fused to recognize the new king but also
instructed her servants to inform him she
was "not at home." This proceeding, no
doubt, was the original use of the polite
fiction so frequently resorted to nowadays
by ladies rich enough to have maids.

Far from acceding to her wicked brother-
in-law's thinly disguised offers of marriage,
Isis made her escape — disguised as a swallow
the high church party would have it — and
started down the Nile in search of the richly
decorated box. When she finally did find it
away down in the Delta country, she had a
fresh revelation of Set's duplicity and
deceitfulness. She found that the pearls
that adorned it were of the fresh water
variety, and that the precious stones had
come from a marble quarry with a little
paint judiciously applied.

Her disappointment in this respect, how-
ever, was partly compensated for by the
fact that she found the body of her Osiris
within, looking lifelike, but unmistakably
dead. To bring it back to life by spells and
incantations was a comparatively easy mat-
ter for the accomplished mistress of the
occult.

Isis and Osiris now decided to withdraw
from public life for the time being. They
retired to a hunting lodge near an Oasis.
Here their only son Horus was born and they
were living happily together, when the
black and hairy hand of Set once more
reached out to destroy the brother who had
been so kind to him.

One day Osiris failed to return from a
hunting trip at the appointed time. Some-
thing told Isis that all was not right with
him. Her worst premonitions were justified
when Set appeared at her modest home and
once more asked her for her hand on the
pretext that he wished to marry her.

"You have killed Osiris again!" she sur-
mised with a sinking heart.

He replied with a laugh that would have
made a hyena mad with envy.

" I have not only killed him, but I have
carved him up into small pieces, and have
scattered the pieces all over Egypt, so that
you will never be able to get them together
and bring him to life again — ha, ha!" he
roared exultantly.

But Isis had not studied Chinese puzzles
in vain for so many years. Having dis-
covered the head of Osiris by the glow of the
nimbus that surrounded it, she found every
one of the scattered pieces, put them care-
fully together, and with the aid of Father
Ra accomplished the unusual feat of making
a Chinese puzzle live.

After that Isis and the man she had won
by vamping methods, but whom now she
sincerely loved, lived happily together in
studious retirement with little Horus until
Osiris was elected Chief Justice of the Soul-
Underworld and sailed with his father on
board the "Millions of Years" to take the
oath of office with his able associate,
Recorder Thoth.

Under Isis's inspiration her son Horus,
who grew up to be the great benefactor of
Egypt, killed his uncle Set in a duel after
he had vanquished and dispersed his armies
in two pitched battles on the Delta, and

119

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(Concluded)

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thus established the right of the Egyptian
people to self-determination.

The most conspicuous material memorial
that we have of Isis's life and labors is the
ruin of the great Temple at Thebes. But
her success in rising from the humble sur-
roundings of her birth to the power and
dignity of the greatest goddess in the
Egyptian calendar gave an impetus to the
feminist movement that resulted, among
other things, in the ratification of the
Eighteenth Amendment to the Constitu-
tion of the United States several thousands
of years later.

As in America every little boy cherishes
the 100,000,000-to-l hope that he will be
President when he grows up, so in Egypt
every little girl of the Isis period had some
ground to expect that she would some day
work up to be a goddess.

Isis went aboard the "Millions of
Years" for her last voyage with the assured
knowledge that some day a cigarette would
be named for her.

Questions and Answers

(Continued from page 107)

Edna R. — No, I did not write the
Questions and Answers for the Burlesque
Number of "Life" (September 8). They
were kidding me, but I didn't mind. It
was very funny. I love life. (Adv.) Yes —
Wallace Reid is married.

D. E. M., Waterbury, Conn. — Kath-
leen Kirkham, that dignified, slim young
actress, played Annis Grand in "The
Foolish Matrons." Ethel Clayton was
born in Champaign, Illinois, on November
18, 1890. Better hurry up if you're going
to send her a birthday card.

Peggy. — It should be Piggy. I have
no recent information concerning Florence
Evelyn Martin and Leon Gendron. They
have been appearing in stock. Miss
Martin was the heroine of the Arthur Guy
Empey pictures.

Alice. — Carmel Myers is married to
I. G. Kornblum; she was born in 1901,
weighs one hundred twelve pounds and
stands five feet four inches in her stock —
I beg pardon, her slippers. San Francisco
is all puffed up because Carmel was born
there.

Erna. — Did you actually think I would
use your nom-de-plume, "The Adorable
Vixen"? That might have been a title
for one of the old Priscilla Dean pictures.
One was "The Exquisite Thief." Gladys
Walton was born April 13, in Boston,
Mass., in the year 1904. She was edu-
cated in Portland, Oregon. Her eyes are
hazel, her height is five feet one inch, her
weight is one hundred thirteen, and her
hair is brown. Whew! Gladys was with
Fox Sunshine Comedies before joining
Universal. She is married to Frank
Riddell. Address her, and Marcella Persh-
ing, at Universal City, Cal. You're wel-
come, but don't ask so many next time,
please.

S. V. E., Indiana. — Alexander Onslow,
who was Olive Thomas' leading man in
"Footlights and Shadows," is now being
featured in a new stage play, "March
Hares." It is a farce, and one of the
funniest I have ever seen. Address Mr.
Onslow at the Punch and Judy Theater,
New York City.

(Continued on page 124)

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Photoplay Magazine— Advertising Section

121

Title Reg. I S Pat. Ofi

7 'HIS is YCUR Department. Jump right in Kith your con-
tribution. What hare you seen, in the past month, that
was stupid, unlife like, ridiculous or merely incongruous? Do
not generalize; confine your remarks to specific instances of ab-
surdities in pictures you hare seen. Your observation will be
listed among the indictments of carelessness on the part of the
actor, author or director.

Or the A ncestor Ma y Have Grabbed It

DOROTHY DALTON in "Behind
Masks," admires the ancestral oil
painting on the wall of the estate she
is visiting, from the foot of the stairs, and
we notice that she is wearing a large
beautiful bar pin. But when she pauses
on the balcony to admire the painting once
more, the bar pin is gone. Did she start
removing her jewels on the way to her
room so as to get a head start dressing for
dinner? B. F. W., Lawrence, Mass.

Leave It to Carmel

{N "A Daughter of the Law," the bar-
tender locks Carmel Myers in a room
and puts the key in his pocket. In the
next scene Carmel uses a hair-pin to push
the same key out of the lock.

Marcus Reiners, Fort Worth, Texas.

Not that It Matters

IN "Man, Woman, and Marriage,"
Dorothy Phillips plays an Amazon
queen in one of the episodes. At the call
to arms, she takes off her cloak, descends
from her throne, and rides away to battle.
When she returns, the queen walks up
to the throne and removes her cloak again.
H. P., Fort Dodge, Iowa.

Playing with Fire

THE only redeeming feature of Pola
Negri's one "Why do they do it?" in
her otherwise superb portrayal of Carmen
in "Gypsy Blood," was the fact that the
audience was in a mood to enjoy a bit of
recklessness, as it were.

In working her gypsy magic with the
melted lead for Jose, she lifts the big iron
kettle firmly between two beautiful bare
arms and places it to her satisfaction with
two equally bare hands. This discloses
the blazing flames upon which the kettle
was supposed to have rested. But never
mind — she's a good actress.

Estella La Rivee, Rochester, N. Y.

Referred to Miss Van Wyck

ERE'S one on — and in "The Oath."
Miriam Cooper, the star, meets Hugh.
She is wearing a black velvet gown and
her hair is piled high on her head with a
strand of pearls at the top. When Hugh
goes to look for her a few minutes later,
ohe is talking with Gerard, and she is wear-
ing a crepe gown, and her hair is dressed
simply, over her ears, with pearls at each
side. How did she make the change?

Beatrice M., Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Literary License

IN the "movie" (it was one) "The Silver
Lining," heroine Jewel Carmen is
introduced to the exceedingly wealthy
and cultured young author at a dinner in
a hotel and immediately after the intro-
duction the e. w. a. c. young author seats
himself and leaves our poor unworthy
heroine standing.

J. H., New York City.

Those Slick City Fellers

CHARLES RAY'S "Peaceful Valley"
had Charlie fighting a' crook from the
city. Charles knocks him over a
banister and into a hay stack. The crook
is supposed to have a sprained ankle, but
he doesn't limp at all, and he later wears
a dark suit, when the suit he fell in — you
know what I mean — was light.

V. L. B., Sa.i Antonio, Texas.

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Are Women's Colleges
Old Maid Factories?

{Continued from page 50)

high degree. And I was delighted when I
was informed that one of them had eloped
the day following graduation, against her
parents' wishes, with a likely young chap
who had done his bit in France. I had been
fortunate enough to meet her and in my
opinion he was a very lucky chap.
1 Mrs. Ruth Grimwood, a graduate of
Barnard, cooperated with me in my search
for beauty in the colleges. She visited
personally half a dozen of the leading col-
leges. Samuel Goldwyn, president of the
large motion picture concern that bears his
name, told me that if we found any likely
candidates for the screen in our search he
would be delighted to give some of them an
opportunity. Mrs. Grimwood communi-
cated that fact to many of the girls, but she
did not find a very enthusiastic response.

She talked to scores of girls interested in
dramatic work. Here are her conclusions:

"The only girls who combined beauty
with an appreciation of any possible lure
which the screen might offer were those who
had become seriously interested in the stage
as a profession or some few from co-
educational institutions where beauty is not
so negligible a quantity.

"Have our women's colleges got on the
wrong track? Are they developing a sort
of super-woman, a sexless creature who has
no time for such mundane matters as charm
and personal appeal? Are they destroying
the femininity which is so much of a
woman's charm?

"The young woman in college has become
slovenly and neglectful of the shell which
houses her soul and mind. The issues have
become clouded for her. She is becoming
mentally flat footed and obese.

" In summing up the result of my pilgrim-
age I seem to see a progression of intelligent,
healthy young women, buoyant, efferves-
cent with life, keenly interested in every new
phase of existence shown them. But in it
all there is a discordant note. They seem to
shun the mention of beauty. They are
taught discernment and appreciation of the
highest forms of ber.uty in literature and all
the arts. Vet the mention of personal
beauty is almost taboo. Is this elimination
of the personal a necessity for the develop-
ment of the intellect?"

That about fifty per cent of college
women remain unmarried, is the opinion
of Professor Samuel J. Homes, of the
University of California, who has just
written a book, "The Trend of The Race,"
published by Harcourt, Brace and Co.

Here are his conclusions on the biological
results of collegiate education for women:

" It may be said that about 50 per
cent of college women remain un-
married. It is apparently true that
women of superior intellect and force
of character are those who, whether
college women or not, are pretty apt
to be selected for spinsterhood. They
are more likely to win positions
which permit them to enjoy the com-
forts and many of the luxuries of
life; they develop other interests
which often detract from the appeal
to matrimony. In some cases they
lose a certain feminine charm, a mis-
fortune that arouses a deep-seated
instinctive recoil in the opposite sex.
There can be no doubt that the race
is losing a vast wealth of material
for motherhood of the best and most
efficient type. Many of the women
who are nowadays most prone to
sacrifice motherhood to a "career"
are just the ones upon whom the obli-
gation of motherhood should rest

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

123

Are Women's Colleges Old Maid Factories?

(Concluded)

with the greatest weight. It mil >' be
seriously doubted if the growing in-
dependence of women, despite its
many advantages, is an unmixed
blessing. Thus far it has worked to
deteriorate the race in the interests
of social advancement, a process
which is bound to be disastrous in
the long run."

It is interesting to get the opinion of
college men on the subject. The writer
communicated with several editors of
college papers. One extremely sound letter
was received from Carl H. Farman, editor of
"The Trojan," of the University of South-
ern California.

"It is a most interesting question,"
he writes, "especially here in Los
Angeles where the studios exert a very
considerable influence on the entire city,
including its educational institutions.

" In my opinion, the majority of the
most beautiful girls of our best families
do go to college, and I think that a
survey of the average campus, espe-
cially of the city university, will bear me
out in this. The small-town college has
no less beautiful women, but they are
not likely to spend as much time on
their clothes as their city sisters. The
women of any metropolis are notably
more smartly dressed than are the
ladies of the smaller cities of but a few
thousand, and this distinction extends
to the colleges of the same cities.

"However, to say that the well-bred
American girl does not marry before
she goes to college is not to argue that
she does not marry or get engaged in
college, and this I believe is the main
reason why some of the most 'attractive
of the species do not enter the pictures.
For the most part, college years are the
marriageable ones and this is especially
true in the lives of those having the
personality and appearance sufficient
to recommend them for a career in the
pictures. The girl who would make a
hit there is likely to be a great social
success and, before long, to succumb to
the symptoms of love, at least to the
extent of getting engaged. And this,
with most women, is sufficient cause for
giving up thoughts of a career.

"Another reason for the non-entrance
of college women into the studios is the
fact, that there are no (or at any rate
very few) courses in photoplay acting
in the college curriculums of the coun-
try. There are courses in dramatics
and in photoplay writing, but the
actual work before the camera is not
given. The college woman has been
trained to give full, perhaps undue,
attention to the value of a training for
her life work, and it is not to be ex-
pected that one majoring in journalism,
psychology or a foreign language
would, on her own accord, have any

persistent intention of making a success
in the pictures. She is probably too
well trained and mature in judgment to
have the often unfounded hopes which
bring many girls to the studios without
realizing the nature of what they may
expect on arriving there without recom-
mendation or fame.

"It is not to be expected that a
course in motion picture acting would
be all-inclusive or a passport to fame.
It might, however, be an excellent
method for training the beginner in
mistakes to be avoided, what to expect
on entrance into the studio work, and
other points of practical value, much
after the manner of the modern college
journalism courses. It would add much
to the college adopting it in so far as the
latter is a broad training ground for
men and women, and it would, I be-
lieve, be a benefit to the pictures as well
as to the college and its students, if only
on account of its directing college
women to the studio work.

" I do not believe that the attitude of
the faculty toward the dress of the
students has any great effect, one way
or the other. In a few seminaries plain
dress may be insisted upon, but I should
think that this would tend to make for
all the more extravagant attire on the
outside. For the most part, college and
university faculties say little or nothing
on the subject in a professional or
serious way. It does not go unnoticed
in a class where topics of the day are in
order, but there is no hostility toward
present-day skirts, rolled hose or any-
thing else. And if there were, it would
make little difference, for such regula-
tion is permissible only in secondary
schools and academies.

"There is little difference between
female colleges and co-educational in-
stitutions in this respect. Motion
picture acting is not brought to the
women's attention as a serious and
worthy object for a life work. Early
illusions about the work have been dis-
sipated and later training has not taken
its place. If she is married, she has
little incentive to risk a doubtful chance
at cinema fame; if unmarried, she is
more likely to go on in the line of her
previous training."

After all, who can tell wherein lies beauty?
Is it the shape of the nose or the tilt of the
head, the color of the eyes or hair? Does it
lie in the provocative glance of the flirt or
the demure appeal of modesty? We know
the trouble Paris stepped into when he tried
to award the apple of discord to the "fairest
of women." He chose Venus and started a
war.

But you must admit that the diamond is
not a thing of great beauty until it has been
cut and polished and that the American
Beauty rose, a highly cultivated flower,
makes the wild rose seem insignificant.

Who Will Win the Money?

NEXT month sees the end of Photoplay's $14,000
prize fiction contest. The two stories in the De-
cember issue will complete the twenty-four from
which the prize winners are to be selected. One of these
final two is entitled "The Horizon," by Octavus Roy
Cohen, author of the corking story, "The End of the
Road," in this issue.

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Questions and Answers

(Continued from page 120)

Blue Bonnet.— I have never been in
your state but I should like to. The state
of Texas, I mean. I have never wanted
to be in a continual state of adoration like
you. So sorry, but Charles Ray is mar-
ried, and happily, too, I understand. So
is Marguerite Clark; her latest was
"Scrambled Wives" but it isn't very late;
about eight months ago. Jack Pickford's
real name is the same as Mary's: Smith.
But no — they are not Smith any more;
they have legally taken the name of Pick-
ford.

Dick. — There was a picture made in
Europe sometime ago, called "Midnight
Gambols." Godfrey Tearle and Marie
Doro were in it. Miss Doro is Mrs.
Elliott Dexter. Wanda Hawley and Mary
Smiles Minter are both Realart starettes.
Wanda is married; Mary isn't.

Grace, Brooklyn. — Yes, I came from
the_ Middle West. Now don't hold that
against me. I said I came from there.
Jerome Patrick opposite Mary Miles
Minter in "Don't Call Me Little Girl."

Dixie.— Jack Mulhall in "The Little
Clown." Mrs. Jack Mulhall died re-
cently. There is a little boy.

F. S., San Jose, Cal. — Address that
six feet and I don't know how many
pounds of virile manhood, Thomas Santschi,
care Pathe, 35 West 45 Street, N. Y. C,
and it will be forwarded. (Doesn't that
sound like Harold Bell McVance?) I
don't know where Bessie Eyton is; she
has not made any pictures for a long time.
Too bad; I always liked Bessie. Address
Kathlyn Williams at the Lasky studios,
Hollywood. Miss Williams may not be
working there right now, but her husband,
Charles Eyton, is the studio manager,
and it is barely possible he may consent
to act as a postman and take the letter
home.

Dolly Madison. — You're out of char-
acter, asking questions about those two
twentieth-century cowmen, Tom Mix and
Buck Jones. They are both Fox stars,
and may be addressed at Mr. Fox's west-
coast studios. I'm sure their respective
wives won't mind if they send you their
photographs.

D. C, Erie, Pa. — I have never heard
of Bobby Ray. I know of Charles and
Al. Will not they suffice? Charlies' latest
is "The Barnstormer." Hoot Gibson is
starring now in five-reelers for Universal.
Many of the erstwhile short subjects have
expanded into features. But I wonder
if they won't be "features" in name only?
Address Snub Pollard, care the Roach
Studios, Culver City, Cal. Harold Lloyd's
latest is "Imagination." Harold's brother,
Gaylord, is now starring in two reel come-
dies for Roach-Pathe.

Dottie. — You say I don't read all those
long letters. How do you know I don't?
I've always answered all your questions,
haven't I? And given you nice long
answers, haven't I? Well, then, what's
all the shootin' for? Tom Moore is Irish;
I thought everyone knew that who knew
Tom. He is married to Renee Adoree,
was born in 1886, and has blue eyes.
Address him care Goldwyn, Culver City,
Cal. He isn't with that company any more,
but I think they will forward your letter.
He is not doing a thing right now but I'll
tell you his new affiliation as soon as I
find out myself.

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Questions and Answers

(Continued)
Sis Hopkins. — Hey there, gal! The old
Ai M. missed you; thought you weren't
going to write any more because of some
fancy that I hadn't done right by you, or
something. Never mind, Little Nell. The
old Answer Man will always have a soft
spot in his heart for you, along with all
the other soft spots for several million
other Little Nells. Now, what is it you
want to know? Oh, yes. You want to
know if Larry Semon is going to play
"Hamlet". No — and I might add, thank
heaven !

Crescent City Gikl. — The reason, oh
Crescent City Girl, that your little ques-
tions were not answered, is because you
persistently refused to read the rules at
the head of this department, one of which
says please give your name and address.
Now, I am not mad at you; I don't even
know you, so how could I be? The rule-
breakers are simply ignored, that's all.
Don't blame you a bit for liking Agnes
Ayres. I er — ah — I kind of l^ke her mv-
self.

Emily.— Mary Pickford is really a
very small woman, and when she is dressed
in child's clothes she appears even tinier.
Then too, when she is playing a youngster
they put tall players and tall props in the
scenes with her. But it is mostly Mary's
artistry that makes her seem so small.
Mary Miles Minter is nineteen. If I have
said she was nineteen other years, I have
only said what I have been told.
"Wedding Bells," which is or should I say
are? reviewed in this issue, is Constance
Talmadge's latest to be released. She-
is working on "Good-for-Nothing" now.

125

Lina, Joliet.— No, I don't think you
look like Billie Rhodes and Lina Cavalieri.
In fact, I don't see how you could look like
these two ladies at the same time. Lina
is tall and slim and dark and haughty.
Billie is little and a bit plump and light and
cuddly. (Hope neither of them reads
this.) I'll take your word for it that you
are a very good swimmer. As an actress
I daresay you swim very well. "Mad
Love" was Cavalieri's last picture. Billie
Rhodes is with the Clever Comedy Com-
pany in California.

Mrs. A. A., Portland, Oregon. —
You say you think I am inclined to be
handsome. Inclined to be, yes. But it is
an inclination I have never been able to
follow. Rudolph Valentino and Agnes
Ayres play the leads in "The Sheik," for
Paramount. Bebe Daniels, Realart
studios. No, Bebe is not engaged to Jack
Dempsey; but I imagine he is a pretty
handy chap to have around. I cannot
advise you as to obtaining work in the
films, except to warn you that it's a rocky
road and that you would be extremely
foolish to leave a happy home and husband
for the uncertain life of the studios. The
only way to get in is via the extra route.

Baby Vamp. — I'm very sorry you have had
to wait for an answer. If I had only
known it was you, I would have torn open
the envelope, read the letter at once, and
jumped out of the window. Seriously
speaking: I don't know Ruth Roland's
home address, but a letter to the Hal
Roach studios, Culver City, California,
will reach her. Jackie Coogan, 635 H. W.
Hellman Bldg., Los Angeles — also Cal.

Alice of Old Vincennes. — So is Alice
Terry. Yes, the famous little blonde star
was born in your Indiana city. She is
engaged to Rex Ingram, the director who
gave her her first big chance.

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Questions and Answers

(Continued)
Clay De Lano, New Rochelle. —
You live in the same town as the Gish
girls. Don't ask me where, for I won't
tell you. Jack Pickford is not playing
now: he's working — directing sister Mary.
They have just finished "Little Lord
Fauntleroy." Mary and Doug are in
Manhattan now, and from my office
window I can look out on the hotel they're
living in: the Ritz-Carlton. The other
day I glanced out and who should I see
but Doug doing stunts on the roof, with
Mary posing for some pictures. They're
great folks. Come again.

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Pansy. — I spent my lunch hour looking
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library. Wonderful collection of manu-
scripts, some from Queen Elizabeth's time.
Then I went out into the humming street
again, and watched and wondered at the
people passing on the Avenue. The Pil-
grims made it all possible — but I doubt if
they would be much pleased. Women on
stilts; fat men* riding in fat motors; haughty
little dogs looking out of the windows of
limousines — bah! But perhaps it is only
because I have to go home to a hall-bed-
room that I sneer at them. What think?
Ann Little recently completed a serial
called "The Blue Fox." Now if it were
called "The Silver Fox," you'd see some
sense to it, wouldn't you? For Ben Wilson
Miss Little is working on another chapter-
drama, "Nanette of the North." Address
her Berwilla Studios, Hollywood.

Bucky, Mexico City. — Bless your heart
— your letter was great! So was the snap-
shot. You want to know what I think
of you. Well, I think you're a mighty
sweet kid, and Fd like to hear from you
often. (Now don't sue me for breach of
promise). I think the sketch you made
is very good, but don't take my word for
it. I don't understand art. Now, now!
Is it of Dorothy Gish or Theda Bara?
I will surely put your picture in my scrap-
book. I wouldn't write to John Barry-
more now, because he is in Europe with his
wife who was Blanche Oelrichs Thomas and
their baby girl. Barrymore was born in 1892.
William Desmond's latest is "Fighting
Mad."

T. G., Denver. — Irene Castle's latest
is "French Heels," which is most appro-
priate, since she always wears them.
Ward Crane is her leading man. Wanda
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tell you how much I appreciate your
thoughtlessness.

Millsville Fan. — You may be able to
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by writing to Selznick, 729 Seventh Ave.,
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have marked (X) before the subject in which I am interested.
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Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine-

Questions and Answers

( Continued)

-Advertising Section

Alice Roder. — What is Hope Hampton?
She is a very pretty young lady who stars
in pictures for her own company. Her
latest release is "Star Dust." Address
her Hope Hampton Productions, 5 West
32nd Street, New York. I am sure she
will send you her picture; and maybe if
you mention that the Answer Man told
you to write, she will write you a letter.
Vou never can tell, as George Bernard
Shaw said before I did.

Richard Barthelmess Nut. — I don't
see how you can be a nut if you like Dick;
but then perhaps your ruttiness comes
from some other cause. Young Mr
Barthelmess is a great chap; a:> unassuming,
real, honest-to-goodness fellow. I'm sure
you would like him even better if you
knew him. Perhaps, then, it is just as
well that you dc.n't. He is married to
Mary Hay. His first wife and her first
husband. Jack Crosby, care Robertson-
Cole, 723 Seventh Avenue, N. Y. C.

Thelma. — Wallace Reid's late pic-
tures have been "Double Speed," "Too
Much Speed," "The Charm School,"
"The Affairs of Anatol," "The Hell Dig-
gers," "Forever" (Peter Ibbetson) and
"Don't Tell Everything": Barthelmess':
"Way Down East," ' Experience," and
"Tol'able David." U'anda Hawley's:

"Her First Elopement," "A Kiss in Time,"
"The House that Jazz Built" and "Her
Sturdy Oak". I don't know whether your
three favorites are friends or not. Wally
and Wanda probably know each other, as
they both work at the Lasky Studio in
Hollywood.

X. S. W. — Your drawing looks like Dor-
othy Dickson, Bebe Daniels, Lillian Gish,
and Mary Pickford. Is it a composite
portrait, by any chance? I think the
young lady you sketched must be using
those artificial eye-lashes I've been hearing
about. They don't grow them that long.
Anna Querentia Nilsson is in Sweden now,
visiting her folks. While she is abroad she
will probably make a picture for British
Paramount. The studio address is Famous
Players-Lasky, Poole Street, Islington,
N. London, England. Fortunately for my
patience, not many players are working
in Britain. It takes so long to say those
streets.

Henry the Eighth. — Your most gracious
(and gay) Majesty was pleased to send me
a most cherished and amazing tale called
"Glass Houses." You may rest assured
that it is the first to be glued in my new
book of treasures. I would that I had a
magazine of mine own, sire, that I might
put it into print. May I express my
felicitations to your M. G. M., and beg
that he condescend to honor me again with
an epistle? P. S. How's Anne?

Opal, Montana. — Now, yours was a real
letter. The sort I like. The sort I try
to answer pronto. You remark, en passant
^whatever that may, or may not mean):
"I thought that if I waited long enough, I
might attain the distinction of being the
one girl who had never written to you;
but there seems to be a fatal fascination
about the idea; and, sooner or later, we all
fall." Just think, I might never have
heard from you. You may not be dis-
tinctive, but you swing a darn sweet pen.
Douglas Fairbanks' latest is "The Three
Musketeers"; Mary's "Through the Back
Door" and "Little Lord Fauntleroy."
Wally's latest pictures are listed above Oh,
Opal, may I not hear from you again?

L. Jacqveline. — So you have never
written to a department of this kind before
and you think it would be quite interesting
to begin now. Oh, ah, — quite, quite.
You want to know the meaning of the
Einstein theory. I have been told that
nobody knows it but Einstein.

Mixie. — Do I receive as much mail as
that shown on the desk in the drawing at
tL » top of the department? Do I? My
aear lady, the artist tried to draw it all,
but he fell to the floor, exhausted. I have
to answer it; but somehow I bear up.
Perhaps because of such charming letters
as yours, quoth he ingratiatingly. Before
you send the fudge to Rudie Valentino,
send mo a sam; .e. I mean, that Rudie
has so many more admirers than I have,
who would be so sorry if anything happened
to him. I'm rme to try that home-made
fudge, honestly. I haven't had any for
exactly four years. — Nothing but promises.

Radio. — No, you didn't shock me.
May McAvoy is charming, and fully
deserves her stardom. But I hope they
will give her good stories. She appeared
with H. E. Herbert in "The Truth about
Husbands," a Whitman Bennett produc-
tion for First National. She is now with
Realart, starring in "A Private Scandal"
and "Everything for Sale."

Arthur Moore, New York City. —
You say you are in hopes that you will
surprise me some day by seeing your name
in electrics. Nothing would surprise me
more.

Mary, Newark. — I approve of your
choice of favorites. The only fault I
could find is that you have too many of
them. Better watch out, some of those
stars might compare notes. Bebe Daniels
and Wanda Hawley, Realart; Ethel Clay-
ton, Lasky; Tom Mix, Fox; Owen Moore
and Mrs. Moore (Kathryn Perry) Selznick.

Jim J., Portland. — You say you need a
rest. Why not send your wife away for the
winter? Here's the cast of "The Dark
Mirror:" Priscilla Maine; Nora O' Moore —
Dorothy Dalton; Dr. Philip Fosdick —
Huntley Gordon; Red Carnahan — Walter
Neeland; Inez — Jessie Arnold; Addy —
Lucille Carney; Mario — Pedro de Cordoba.

Mary. — You enter, in my Own Exclusive
Contest: Dr. H. Oaks, Ears Split; Cheeks
Blanched; Eyes Narrowed (To Slits, SI. 00
extra). The Rapid Transit Co., Limits
Reached. Thank you very much. Next?

H. L., Oak Park. — Ah, I have strolled in
that Chicago suburb many a Sunday after-
noon. It's nice out there, isn't it? But I
am surprised that an Oak-Parkette would
write on pink paper. Really, Helen,
Rudolph Valentino was born in Italy; Alice
Terry in Indiana. Rudolph doesn't say
when; Alice does — 1896. Miss Terry is
really Miss Taafe, of Welsh descent. Her
height is one inch over five feet.

Girl flood.

^^ When your complexion of
after years is determined.

That critical period ot youth
between childhood and young
womanhood mars the beauty of
many a complexion. The skin
eruptions of adolescence may leave
permanent blemishes. Cosmetics
can but hide these annoying marks
— pimples, liver-spots, sallowness.
Perfect physical health will pre-
vent their forming. Wise mothers
will instruct their daughters in
the use of a good aperient to keep
the skin fair and the blood clear.

Nature's Remedy (hR Tablets),
a vegetable aperient, is a real aid
to a beautiful complexion. It acts
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Nat, Cincinnati. — I've heard that a wife
never knows what becomes of her husband's
money, even when she spends it herself.
Among the celebrated screen stars who, at
one time or another, bobbed their hair, are:
Nazimova, Viola Dana, Corinne Griffith,
Constance Talmadge, Norma and Natalie,
Shirley Mason, Marv Thurman, Mae Busch,
and Lottie Pickford. Henrv Walthall is
making a new picture for Yitagraph, co-
featured with Pauline Starke.

(Continued on page 129)

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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

128 Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Philosophy of
Brother Ostrich

THERE'S something almost human about the
ostrich. Rather than face the unusual, he buries
his head in the sand — thus exposing himself, rather
recklessly, to the whims of happenstance.

Isn't that just like the chap who ducks under the
sheets the minute the furniture creaks?

Lots of folks shut their eyes when they need
them most. In the matter of buying something,
for instance — the important business of spending
hard earned dollars.

Who gets the most for his money? The man who
buys blindly — or the fellow who reads advertising
and discovers the things he really wants and needs?

Who is the most economical housekeeper? The
woman who buys haphazard, or the one who reads
advertising and puts her household purchasing on a
business basis?

There's no denying the great value of advertising to
those who read it. It protects you against fraud and
inferiority. It tells you what is new and good, mak-
ing you a wise buyer. It saves you money by point-
ing out for your consideration only the best products.

Don't be an ostrich.

Read the advertisements

Every advertisement in I'HOTOl'LAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

rHOTOFLAY MAGAZINE ADVKKTISI.Nd SEC HON

Questions and Answers

(Concluded)

Virginia Dare — The photograph you

enclosed is ot Elliott Dexter Following a
serious illness, Mr. Dexter used a cane for
some time; but he is entirely recovered now.
Anita Stewart is Mrs. Rudolph Cameron1
she was born in 1807. Colleen Moore has
been on the screen since 1917. She is not
married.

Always say " Bayer' '

Unless you see the name "Bayer"
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35*37 ?39 Maiden LanetJewYork

Charles Chaplin

and

Mme. Petrova

TWO personages who have

joined Photoplay

Magazine s staff of writers.

Chaplin, now touring Europe,
is to write a series describing
his experiences abroad — and
Petrova is to write, through
the winter, on any subject
her brilliant mind may strike.

You are due for some absorbing
reading this winter — be sure
you get each issue of Photoplay.

D. G., Indianapolis. — James Rennie is
in a play called "Pot Luck." He married
Dorothy Gish December 26, 1020, at Green
wich, Conn. They are very happy, I under-
stand. I see them together a lot and he is
devoted and so is she. Besides, Cal York
says so, and he ought to know; he is the
' Plays and Players" man, you know.
Robert Ellis, Selznick.

E. W. P., Beach H wen, N. J.— I'm only
too glad to have helped you in any way.
You're one of my favorites, you know.
Georges Carpentier made only two films:
"The Wonder Man," for Robertson-Cole;
and "The Fight ot t he Age," in which he co-
starred with Jack Dempsey The first was
released in 1920. So you are going to the
University of London. That's fine. I dor't
think you'll have much time for films; but if
you do go, you'll probably see American
pictures. They don't get them for some-
time— but they do get em. I believe some
of the British films are very good. Write
again soon.

Alabama Bantam — You want a picture
of Barbara Bedford in the Magazine. Very
well, it shall be done. Now you see how
obliging I can be.

Ermine — And you want interviews with
M iy Allison and Pauline Frederick. Any
other little things you would like to have me
attend to right now? But I'll tell the
Editor what you say and then it is up to
him. I have never noticed a resemblance
between Ruth Roland and Dorothy Dalton
and my eyes are in good shape Neither is
married at present, which means they have
both been married at one time.

A. Kern. — I can't publish a picture of
Rudolph Cameron, Jr , because there isn't
any Rudolph Cameron. Jr

Margaret T, London. — Thank? a
thousand times for that corking letter I
have read it several times and enjoyed it
immensely You say we should not judge
British pictures by those we have seen here:
that ' Alf s Button" and "The Twelve-
Pound Look' are both very good. I'll look
for them. Do write often and ask questions

J. D., Nebraska. — Yes, yes, of course I
think Clara Kimball Young is too beautiful
for words. But I don't know what you
mean when you ask me how to write to the
movie editor. Explain and perhaps I'll be
able to help you.

Marii.ynn. — You must have gone to see
"Sally" if you like Marilynn Miller so well.
She's lovely in that musical comedy May
Allison and Jack Mulhall, Metro. Richard
Barthelmess, Inspiration Pictures. Gloria
Swanson, Paramount. Yes, Lasky is the
same as Paramount; I use the two just to
relieve the rronotonv a little.

G. C, Pickering, Mo. — I'm nota Missus.
I'm not. Please don't say that. You don't
have to be dignified when writing to me;
just don't call me — that. Theda Bara is
married to Charles Brabin, who used to
direct her. She is not acting at present but
it is rumored that she is coming back.

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□ Concrete Builder

D Structural Engineer

□ PLUMBING & HEAT'G

□ Sheet Metal Worker

□ Text. Overseer or Supt.

□ CHEMIST

□ Pharmacy

□ BUSINESS MANAG-M't
D SALESMANSHIP

D ADVERTISING
Q Railroad Positions

□ ILLUSTRATING

□ Show Card & Sign Ptg.

□ Cartooning

□ Private Secretary

D Business Correspondent

□ BOOKKEEPER

D Stenographer & Typist
Q Cert. Pub. Accountant

□ TRAFFIC MANAGER

□ Railway Accountant
n Commercial Law

□ GOOD ENGLISH

□ Com. School Subjects
a CIVIL SERVICE

a AUTOMOBILES

□ Railway Mail Clerk

□ Mathematics

B Navigation
Agriculture
D Poultry □ Spanish

Q Banking I D Teacher

Street
and No.

City-

Occupation .

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Miriam A. Dubbs <^Eprirat a. Ra.

Wilber A.Ewingf^Hinton, W.Va.

■a

For your Baby, use the

Mellin's Food Method
of Milk Modification

Mellin's Food, properly prepared,
furnishes every element a baby needs to
grow and develop as Nature intends.
That is why Mellin's Food babies grow
strong, robust and vigorous.

Norman W. Maker^RidlonvillevMe.

Homer A.Todd r'Romney, Ind. iWM,

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

decern,

■

-*«jjjb '"4

* .

LILLIAN GISH

NEW FACES FOR OLD-In this Issue

! i

w \

Hal

*^fC

L*$

■^

■; vm

\^_y *■% [The joyous spirit of Christmas]

HERE Monsieur Pogany, the famous artist, depicts for us
in America the gay abandon of an old-time Parisian
Christmas Eve, or Reveillon.

H'elas! But few of us may know the joy of spending
Reveillon a Paris. But any of us, mes amies, may know the
joy of giving this Christmas these delightful Parisian Paquets
de Noel — these Djer-Kiss holiday sets.

In the best shops everywhere they will be found. More
charming they are than ever before — gifts filled to the full
with a fascination fran^aise. And, more, so splendid a variety
of combinations.

Can you, Madame, Mademoiselle, imagine a more charming
gift for your friends intimes? Assurement none could be more
fashionable — bringing as these paquets de Djer-Kiss do the very
charm of Paris itself. So it is that you will give, n'est-cepas ?

You will not forget? C'cst tine affaire si importante.

^*^ TBONOUNCED "DEAfclOSS? ■

HOLIDAY SETS

Dier-Kigs holiday Bets are
Madame, in six different

■nted to you

Madamp, in six different combinations of thc__
French Djer-Kiss Toiletries. Et ausei six dif-
ferent prices. Too, a happy choice of happy
colors. Lcs paquets blue or Its paquets old rose.

I A. H. S. Co. 1921

Photoplay Magazine — Adyektising Section

The Victrola is the gift
of all music to your home

Wherever the dawn of Christmas morning finds a
Victrola, there are gathered the greatest artists of this
generation. All have contributed their art to the
Victrola, positive that it is the one instrument which
brings to you their authoritative interpretations in the
tones of actual reality.

Will there be a Victrola in your home this Christmas?
$25 to $1500.

"HIS MASTERS VOICE"

This trademark and the trademarked word
"Victrola" identify all our products. Look under
the lid! Look on the label!
VICTOR TALKING MACHINE CO., Camden, N. J.

Vict or Talking Machine Company Camden, N. J.

When you write to advertisers please imntiou I'HOTOi'LAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

If it's

^->> ±i its a

yaramoutu
picture

it's the
best show in town

— best in plot, presentation, staging, starring, dressing,^laughs,
thrills, pathos, everything,

— best, because it is made up to a standard and not down to a
price,

— best because the organization behind it is great enough to
draw on the best talent of every kind in America and Europe and
co-ordinate it to produce a perfect photoplay.

If you are a real fan you know a real photoplay, and the way
a real fan can pick out a Paramount Picture just by seeing a few
hundred feet of it in the middle is the biggest tribute to quality
a film can have.

Watch the panel alongside for Paramount Pictures and watch
your theatre's announcements to find out dates of showings.

Check it up for yourself, anytime, anywhere, that if it's a
Paramount Picture it's the best show in town.

Paramount Pictures

listed in order of release

Sept. 1, 1921, to Jan. 1, 1922

Wallace Reid in "The Hell Diggers"
By Byron Morgan

Gloria Swanson in Elinor Glyn's

"The Great Moment"

Specially written for the star by the

author of "Three Weeks."

Betty Compson in

"At the End of the World"

By Ernst Klein

Directed by Penrhyn Stanlaws.

"The Golem"

A unique presentation of the famous

story of ancient Prague.

Cecil B. DeMille's

"The Affairs of Anatol"

By Jeanie MacPherson

Suggested by Schnitzler's play

With Wallace Reid, Gloria Swanson.

Elliott Dexter, Bebe Daniels, Monte

Blue, Wanda Hawley, Theodore

Roberts, Agnes Ayres, Thecdore

Kosloff, Polly Moran, Raymond

Hatton and Julia Faye.

Elsie Ferguson in "Footlights"

By Rita Weiman, directed by

John S. Robertson.

Thomas Meighan in "Cappy Ricks"
By Peter B. Kyne.

George Melford's

"The Great Impersonation"

By E. Phillips Oppenheim

Cast includes

James Kirkwood and Ann Forrest.

A George Fitzmaurice Production

"Experience"

with Richard Barthelmess as "Youth"

By George Hobart.

William deMille's "After the Show "

By Rita Weiman; cast includes
Jack Holt, Lila Lee and Charles Ogle.

Ethel Clayton in William D. Taylor's

Production "Beyond"

By Henry Arthur Jones.

William S. Hart in "Three Word
Brand," a William S.Hart Production.

George Loane Tucker's "Ladies Must

Live," with Betty Compson, by Alice

Duer Miller.

"The Bonnie Brier Bush,"

by Ian MacLaren
A Donald Crisp Production.

George Melford's Production, " The

Sheik," with Agnes Avres and

Rudolph Valentino. From the

novel by Edith M. Hull.

Jack Holt in "The Call of the North,"

adapted from "Conjuror's House"

by Stewart Edward White.

Thomas Meighan in "A Prince There

Was." From George M. Cohan's play

and the novel "Enchanted Hearts,"

by Darragh Aldrich.

Ethel Clayton in "Exit — the Vamp"
by Clara Beranger.

Wallace Reid, Gloria Swanson

and Elliott Dexter in

"Don't Tell Everything"

by Lorna Moon.

Gloria Swanson in "Under the Lash"

From the novel "The Shulamite "

by Alice and Claude Askew.

A William deMi'le Production
"Miss Lulu Bett"
With Lois Wilson, Milton Sills,
Theodore Roberts and Helen Fergu-
son. From the novel and play by
Zona Gale.

Betty Compson in

"The Law and the Woman"

Adapted from the Clyde Fitch play

"The Woman in the Case"

A Penrhyn Stanlaws Production.

Every advertisement in THOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

The World's Leading Motion Picture Publication

PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE

JAMES R. QUIRK, Editor

Vol. XXI

No. 1

Contents

December, 1921

Lillian Gish

Cover Design

From a Pastel Portrait by Rolf Armstrong.

Rotogravure :

Lillian Gish and Joseph Schildkraut
Mabel Ballin William Farnum

Rubye de Remer Irene Castle

Mae Marsh Marguerite Clark

Mother-Love Editorial

Mother o' Mine (Photographs)

Famous Actresses in Maternal Roles.

Rosalie (Fiction) Frank Condon

A Story of Many Kinds of Hunger. Illustrated by T. D. Skidmore.

The Unhappy Ending Frederick Van Vranker

A Tribute to the Film-Audience's Mental Standard.

Hail the Woman (Fiction) Gene Sheridan

Told from the Photoplay.

When Venus Ordered Hash Ada Patterson

Betty Blythe Makes a Confession.

How I Keep in Condition Lila Lee

Fourth of a Series on Health and Beauty.

The Well-Dressed Woman and Fall Carolyn Van Wyck

Photoplay's Fashions Department. (Creations by M. Bonart.)

From an Old Album (Photographs)

Ghosts of Former Stage Favorites.

(Contents continued on next page)

19
20

Editorial Offices, 25 W. 45th St., New York City

Published monthly by the Photoplay Publishing Co., 350 N. Clark St., Chicago, III.

Edwin M. Colvtn, Pres. James R. Quirk, Vice-Pres. R. M. Eastman, Sec.-Treas.

Entered as second-class matter April 24, 1912. at the Postoffice at Chicago. 111., under the Act of March 3, 1879.

Copyrieht, 1921, by the PHOTOPLAY PUBLISHING COMPANY, Chicago.

Photoplays Reviewed

in the Shadow Stage

This Issue

Save this magazine — refer to
the criticisms before you pick out
your evening's entertainment.
Make this your reference list.

Page 60

Little Lord Fauntleroy United Artists

One Arabian Night. . First National

I Do Rolin-Pathe

Page 61

The Idle Class First National

Jungle Adventures Exceptional

Bits of Life First National

Page 62

Camille Metro

The Play House First National

The Matrimonial Web. . . .Vitagraph

Room and Board Realart

All for a Woman .... First National

Beyond Paramount

Charge It Equity

Page 63

No Woman Knows Universal

The Primal Law Fox

Passing Through ... Ince-Paramount

Moonlight Follies Universal

Dangerous Lies. . . British-Paramount

Steelheart Vitagraph

Page 103

Queenie Fox

Garments of Truth Metro

Action Universal

God's Crucible Hodkinson

The Infamous Miss Revel. . . .Metro

The Rowdy Universal

The Secret of the Hills. . Vitagraph

The Night Horsemen Fox

Good and Evil F. B. Warren.

The Rage of Paris Universal

The Girl from Gcd's Country

F. B. Warren

What Love Will Do Fox

Contents — Continued

Ada Patterson 35

Tony Sarg
Mary Winship
Delight Evans

Via Long Distance

Phone- Interviewing Will Rogers on Marriage.

Movies on Strings

Marionettes Revived by the Screen.

From Dishes to Drama

The Rise of Helen Ferguson.

The Girl on the Cover

A Close-up of Lillian Gish.

Great Thoughts of the Month

Digest of Comment About the Motion Picture.

Horizon (Fiction)

A Great Story by a Noted Author.

Illustrated by Frederic Dorr Steele.

Only Their Husbands (Photographs)

They're a Nice, Harmless Collection.

New Faces for Old Samuel Goldwyn

First of a Series Dealing with "Star-Dust."

The Story of Strongheart
The Screen's Latest Dog-Star.

West Is East Delight Evans

Interviewing Rudolph Valentino and Ethel Chafin.

Why Does the World Love Mary? Adela Rogers St. Johns
Something New About a Great Favorite.

Rotogravure :

Mary Pickford
Jack Holt et Junior

Petrova's Page

The Best Photoplay of 1920

The People of the United States Have Chosen

Constance Talmadge and Her Mother

Not So Long Ago

When the Actresses Were Children.

Nazimova at Home
Richard Barthelmess

By Herself
James R. Quirk

(Photograph)
(Photographs)

The Shadow Stage

Concise Reviews of the New Filmplays.

Charlie Abroad

First of a Special Series For Photoplay.

Cutting Back

Dorothy Dalton's Career as Per the Album.

Why Do They Do It?

Letters from the Readers.

Charles S. Chaplin
(Photographs)

Vamps of All Times

VI — Potiphar's Daughter.

Questions and Answers

Here Are the Movie Mommers!

And How They Love Their Daughters!

Plays and Players

News from the Studios.

George Randolph Chester

Purer Than Snow

A Censor-proof Drama.

Miss Van Wyck Says:

Questions Answered by our Fashion Editor.

The Film's First Woman Executive

Miss Edna Williams, formerly a Song- Writer.

Addresses of the leading motion pic-
ture studios will be found on page 99

Octavus Roy Cohen 41

45
46
48
49
50
51

58
59

Svetezar Tonjoroff 73

The Answer Man 75

Gladys Hall 76

Cal. York 78

Photoplay s

January

Issue

the

'IGHT almost be called
Feminist Number.

The star story of the month
is one by Rupert Hughes on
the subject introduced by Samuel
Goldwyn in this issue, "New Faces
for Old." Outside of that —

There is a story by Dorothy Gish: a
lively essay on husbands — her own in
particular. She has called it "Largely
a Matter of Love." Mrs. James Rennie
can write almost as entertainingly as
she can act ; so you had better watch
out for her story.

Mrs. Frank Bacon, the wife of Frank
Bacon, the great star of "Lightnin',"
has as much to do with her husband's
success as he has. There was a time
when the Bacons couldn't pay the rent.
Now they have a wonderful home on
Long Island, and everything. She tells
you how it happened.

The brilliant and beautiful Elsie
Ferguson is one of the happily married
stars. She talks about marriage, and
illustrates her story with the only pic-
tures of herself with her husband ever
published.

There is no actress better qualified
to write about success than Mae
Murray. She confides her secrets in a
way that will interest you.

Corinne Griffith is the Girl on the
Cover. There's a story about her
inside.

Carolyn Van Wyck's Fashions have
never been more fascinating. Remem-
ber that the designs of Raoul Bonart,
the French artist, arc absolutely exclu-
sive to the readers of this Magazine.

The men have their innings, too.
Charlie Chaplin gives his impressions
of Paris, the next stop in his European
tour. Richard Barthelmess is the
subject of an interesting interview.
And there are others.

The fi tion you have learned to ex-
pect from Photoplay; the inimitable
peppy paragraphs about plays and
players; the authentic reviews by the
Magazine's staff; and, as always, beau-
tiful portraits in rotogravure. So you
really had better

ORDER

TOUR JANUARY

ISSUE HOW!

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

iHe PRICELESS INGREDIENT

In the city of Bagdad lived Hakeem, the Wise One, and many people went to him
tor counsel, which he gave freely to all, asking nothing in return.

There came to him a young man, who had spent much but got little, and said: "Tell
me, Wise One, what shall I do to receive the most for that which I spend?"

Hakeem answered, "A thing that is bought or sold has no value unless it contain
that which cannot be bought or sold. Look for the Priceless Ingredient."
"But, what is this Priceless Ingredient?" asked the young man.

Spoke then the Wise One, "My son, the Priceless Ingredient of every product in
the market-place is the Honor and Integrity of him who makes it. Consider his name
before you buy."

Three words of this old tale — "The
Priceless Ingredient" — tell the story of
the House of Squibb, revealing the secret
of its service and success.

E. R. Squibb & Sons was founded in
1858 by Dr. Edward R. Squibb, a physi-
cian and chemist of high principles and
ideals. He was inspired, not by hope of
financial gain (for he had money enough
for all his needs), but by professional
duty and personal honor. His aim was
to set a new and higher standard in
chemical and pharmaceutical manufac-
ture, by making products of greater
purity than had yet been known.

Within three years the Squibb Labora-
tories had attained a position of leader-
ship. In 1861 the Government of the
United States turned confidently to
Squibb for products needed for a million
men in our Civil War. That was sixty

years ago. The reputation so early won,
the House of Squibb holds today invio-
late and values far above profits.

In 1917, as in 1861, the United States
Government again turned confidently to
Squibb for products needed for millions
of men in the World War, and after the
War, conferred upon the House o£
Squibb the Award for Distinguished
Service.

For more than half a century the
name Squibb has been recognized as full
guaranty of skill, knowledge and honor
in the manufacture of chemical and
pharmaceutical products made exclu-
sively for the medical profession and
used only by the physician and the
surgeon.

The name Squibb on Household
Products is equally valued as positive
assurance of true purity and reliability.

Squibb's Bicarbonate of Soda — exceedingly pure,
therefore without bitter taste.

Squibb's Epsom Salt — free from impurities. Pre-
ferred also for taste.

Squibb's Sodium Phosphate — a specially purified
product, free from arsenic, therefore safe.

-highest quality.

Squibb's Milk of Magnesia-
Pleasant and effective.

Squibb's Cod Liver Oil — selected finest Nor-
wegian; cold pressed; pure in taste. Rich
in vitamine.

Squibb's Olive Oil — selected oil from Southern
France. Absolutely pure. (Sold only
through druggists.)

Squibb's Sugar of Milk — specially refined for pre-
paring infants' food. Quickly soluble. In
sealed tins.

Squibb's Boric Acid — pure and perfectly soluble.
Soft powder for dusting; granular form for
solutions.

Squibb's Castor Oil — specially refined, bland in
taste; dependable.

Squibb's Stearate of Zinc — a soft and protec-
tive powder of highest purity.

Squibb's Magnesia Dental Cream — made from
Squibb's Milk of Magnesia. Contains no
soap or other detrimental substance. Cor-
rects mouth acidity.

Squibb's Talcum Powder — Carnation, Violet,
Boudoir, and Unscented. The talcum pow-
der par excellence.

Squibb's Cold Cream — an exquisite preparation
of correct composition for the care of the
skin.

Sold by reliable druggists everywhere, in original sealed packages.
The "Priceless Ingredient" of every product is the honor and integrity of its maker.

Wnen you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

No Excuse for Being Fat
Since New Discovery

One woman reduced 13 pounds in 8 days. Another lost 20 pounds in
less than a month. Still another took off 40 pounds in an incredibly short
time. All without appliances, medicines, starving, exercises or massage.
No discomforts or bitter self-denials. Results in 48 hours. Free trial.

te*«. C«or£« Cuiteraaa.e days later
Hot* ths wonderful loprovenent

Loses 13 Pounds in 8 Days

"Hurrah! I have lost 13 pounds since last Mon-
day (8 days') and am feeling fine. I used to he
in bed an hour or so before I could get to sleep,
but I go to sleep now as soon as I lie down, and
I can sleep from eight to nine hours. Before I
began losing weight I could not take much ex-
ercise, but now I can walk four or five miles a
day. I feel much better than I have for months."
Signed, Mrs. George Guiterman,
420 East 66th Street, New York City.

Above photographs are just as reproduced by the camera —
no alteration — no retouching. Double chins, folds and puff-
iness under the eyes have vanished. The increased brightness
of the eyes shows renewed health and youthfulness.

Mrs. VermUua before she found

ou! about the new discovery,

weight 16S pounds.

Mrs. Vermilya after she applied,

the new discovery to herself,

weight 128 pounds.

Doctor's Wife Reduces 40 Pounds

Mrs. Hazel Vermilya, pictured above, wife of a physician of
Bloomington, Ind., reduced quickly to normal weight, and also
gained perfect health and a beautiful complexion. She
writes:

"Before I tried your method my weight was 168 pounds.
My blood was all bad; my heart was weak. I constantly had
sour stomach and sick headaches. I went to different doctors
for help, but I got worse instead of better, until I tried your
new discovery. I am now in perfect health; sleep perfectly,
and my blood test is 10T per cent pure. I had begun to get
wrinkles, when I was fit. b it my flesh i< now firm and free
from a single wrinkle. And I now weigh only 128 pounds,
which is my normal weight."

Stage Beauty Loses a Pound a Day

" In about three weeks I re-
duced twenty pounds — just
what I wanted to — through
your wonderful way to reduce.
And without one bit of dis-
comfort. I think it is perfectly
remarkable."

Thus writes Miss Kathleen
Mullane, famous artists' model
and Ziegfeld Follies beauty.

This new discovery enabled
her to quickly reduce to normal
weight, after a long period of
exercise, starving and appli-
ances had failed utterly.

Miss Kathleen Mullane. Artists'
Model and Z tegfeld Follies Beauty

A SIMPLE, easily-followed law of
Nature has now been discovered
■ which enables anyone to quickly
rid themselves of dangerous, burden-
some excess flesh. Results are often
apparent in 48 hours. These benefits
are secured without discomfort and
without any bitter self-denials. In
fact many say they enjoy their meals
and other pleasures of life more than
ever before.

When you have reached your nor-
mal, ideal weight, you can retain it
without gaining or losing another
pound.

Scores of stout men and women,
who have regained their normal fig-
ures by this method, find that a reduc-
tion of a pound a day is not too much to
look for at the very start. Many have
lost 10 pounds a week — and even more.

Reduce as Quickly as
You Wish

The rate at which you lose your
surplus flesh is largely under your own
control. If 3'ou do not wish to lose
flesh as rapidly as a pound a day or
ten pounds a week, you can regulate
this natural law so that your loss of
flesh will be more gradual. By reducing
more slowly you avoid any necessity
for sudden changes of clothing. You
can make slight and inexpensive altera-
tions in your garments as you steadily
attain a slender, graceful figure.

In addition to normal weight and a
more youthful figure you secure other
benefits of equal importance. For this
natural method also builds your health
and gives you renewed vitality and

energy. You obtain a clearer complexion, a
brighter eye and a more elastic step. Many
write that they have been astounded at losing
wrinkles which they had supposed could not
be effaced. As the superfluous flesh vanishes,
the years seem to drop off also. Your nerves
are improved and your sleep is more refreshing.
You regain youthful vigor and spirits as well
as youthful form.

It is like being invited to step into an
entirely new body, full of fresh ambition. A
body of graceful lines, fairly tingling with
health; a body that seems capable of any degree
of physical exertion.

And you can obtain all this without discom-
forts or painful self-denials. You make little
change in your daily routine. You continue
to do the things you like and to eat food you
enjoy. In fact, far from giving up the pleasures
of the table, you actually increase their
variety.

The Secret Explained

Scientists have always realized that there
was some natural law on which the whole
system of weight control was based. It
remained for Eugene Christian, the famous
food specialist, to discover the one, safe,
certain and easily followed method of re-
gaining normal, healthful weight. He dis-
covered that certain foods, when eaten to-
gether, take off weight instead of adding to
it. Certain combinations cause fat, others
consume fat. For instance, if you eat certain
foods at the same meal, they are converted
into excess fat. But eat these same foods
at different times and they will be converted
into tissue and muscle. Then the excess fat

you have already accumulated will be rapidly
consumed because the fat-forming combina-
tions have been cut off. There is nothing
complicated and nothing hard to understand.
It is simply a matter of learning how to com-
bine your food according to a few simple,
natural rules.

Free Trial — Send No Money

Elated with his discovery and with
the new hope and energy it offers to
stout men and women, Eugene Chris-
tian incorporated this method in the
form of simple, easy-to-follow little
lessons under the title of "Weight
Control— the Basis of Health." This
is offered to you on free trial.

Here is what following the course
will do: It will bring your weight
down to normal at the rate of a pound
a day or more. It will make your
flesh firm and solid. It will bring a
clearer skin, add new glow7 to your
cheek, a new sparkle to your eye and a
newr spring to your step. And all
naturally — nothing harmful.

Prove this for yourself. See your un-
necessary flesh quickly vanish. See why
starving, strenuous exercising and medicines
and massage are unnecessary. See how this
new discovery gets down to the real reason
for your stoutness and removes it by natural
and effective methods.

Although you would probably be glad to
pay many dollars for such a simple, safe and
certain method of obtaining normal weight we
have made the price as low as we can, because
we want every sufferer from excessive flesh to
secure its benefits.

Send no money, just put your name and
address on the coupon, or send a letter if you
prefer. The course will be mailed to you
in PLAIN CONTAINER and $1.97 (plus
postage) to the postman will make it yours.
Then, if you are not fully satisfied in every
particular, you may return it within five days
after its receipt and your money will be im-
mediately refunded. If more convenient, you
may remit with coupon, but this is not neces-
sary.

Just mail the coupon or a letter. You are
thoroughly protected by our refund offer.
Act today, however, to avoid delay, as it is
hard for us to keep up with the demand for
these lessons. Think of the surprise and envy
you will create among your friends by your
renewed, more youthful appearance just a
short time after the course arrives.

Corrective Eating Society, Inc.

DepL W-20812, 43 W. 16th St., New York City

Corrective Eating Society, Inc.,

Dept. W-20812, 43 West 16th Street,

New York City

You may send me, IN PLAIN CONTAINER.
Eugene Christian's Course. " Weight Control
— the Basis of Health." in 12 lessons. I will
pay the postman only SI. 07 (plus postage) on
arrival. If I am not satisfied with it, I have the
privilege of returning it to you within live days
after its receipt. It Is. of course, understood that
you are to return my money If 1 thus return the
course.

Name

(Please write plainly

Address

City

State

Price outside United States. S2.15 cash .with order

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Every day your skin is
changing. By the right
care, any girl can
have a smooth, lovely
complexion

Every girl knows

nothing can make you look right
if your skin is not right

IF your skin is smooth and clear —
radiant with freshness and color —
you cannot look unattractive, no
matter how simple your toilet.

But not even the prettiest clothes
will make up for a sallow, lifeless
complexion — a skin that is disfigured
by blackheads or ugly blemishes.

Don't neglect your skin.

Remember — any girl can have a
smooth, lovely complexion. Each
day your skin is changing — old skin
dies, and new forms in its place. By
giving this new skin the special
treatment it needs, you car. actually
make it over.

Are you using the right treatment
for your special type of skin?

There is a special Woodbury treat-
ment for each type of skin.

For instance, if your skin is of the
pale, sallow type — it needs the fol-
lowing treatment to stimulate the

pores and blood vessels and give it a
clear, fresh, healthy color:

ONCE OR TWICE a week, fill your
basin full of hot water — almost boiling
hot. Bend over the top of the basin
and cover your head with a heavy bath
towel, so that no steam can escape.
Steam your face for thirty seconds.
Now lather a hot cloth with Wood-
bury's Facial Soap. With this wash
your face thoroughly, rubbing the
lather well into the skin. Then rinse
the skin well, first with warm water,
then with cold, and finish by rubbing
it for thirty seconds with a piece of ice.

The other nights of the week
cleanse your skin in the usual way
with Woodbury's Facial Soap and
warm water, ending with a dash of
cold.

THIS treatment and other com-
plete treatments for all the dif-
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Frank Diem

"DEAUTY and romance live again in Griffith's "The Two Orphans". The
■*-* French classic has been done many times, but never more exquisitely. Lillian
Gish and Joseph Schildkraut are ideally cast as Henriette and the Chevalier.

ZONE'S PEN drips adjectives when one writes about Mabel Ballin. But there is
^-^ really only one which is peculiarly appropriate. And that's quaint. Isn't she?
Miss Ballin is really Mrs. Hugo, the star of her director-husband's own company.

IV/fR. FARNUM'S universal popularity is best illustrated by the fact that no-
1 *■ body calls him William. He has been one of our favorites ever since he made
his first picture. We don't remember the picture — but we haven't forgotten Bill.

C. Heignton Monroe

T> UBYE DE REMER is a famous beauty, but she doesn't let that spoil her

outlook on life. She is just as cheerful and as little inclined to be up-stage

as any extra girl — in fact, more so. She is now at the head of her own company.

Ira L.Hill

'"TPHE BEST dressed woman in the world" is what they have been calling Irer.

A Castle ever since she made her debut as a dancer. Irene isn't dancing no\

— she has just completed a new film — but she still lives up to her original title.

now

Ned Van Buren

/^J.OOD NEWS! Mae Marsh is coming back. She is rehearsing now for a stage
v-* play called "Brittie", and it is reported that she is to make a picture for
D. W. Griffith, under whose direction she first won fame. We hope it is true.

-**

Edward Thayer- Monroe

HPHERE is a postman in New Orleans who used to like Marguerite Clark. But

A now he has changed his mind. He says it isn't reasonable for any one person to

get as much mail as Marguerite does. And they're all letters asking her to come back.

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cUhe World's Leading, Moving (Picture CsWagazine

PHOTOPLAY

Vol. xxi

December, 1921

No. i

Mothev-Love

(X:\!

yOU have doubtless wondered,
many times, why the evocation
of mother-love never fails on
screen or stage or canvas. The
showman, vocal or silent, doesn't
wonder; to him, it is just another of
nature's inexplicable laws. He ac-
cepts what he calls "mother-stuff" as
"sure-fire"; it is always "a draw";
nine times out of
ten it can be re-
li ed upon to
"save the show."
There is a
reason, deeper
than sentiment,
beyond all tears.
It is a reason
so true that it is
one of the basic
stratae of human
fact. Mother-love
is the one absolutely pure, unselfish love that we ever really know.

Compared to it, so-called "romantic" love — that "love-interest" which is the back-
bone of our drama and fiction — is an incarnation of selfishness. In youth, romantic
love is mainly physiological, for it is based upon sexual attraction. What passes for
romantic love in middle age and old age is a fundamentally selfish, though perhaps quite
unconscious, desire for comfort or companionship or refuge from a so-called heartless
world of people no more and no less heartless than ourselves. Comradeship and friend-
ship, noble sentiments both, have visible bounds beyond which they cannot pass. Mother-
love alone is bounded, if at all, in infinity.

And we dare to say that every audience's reverence before and response to a mimic
display of mother-love is based upon something deeper than a recollection of individual
mothers, as the casual analysts are fond of telling us. The deep, true reason lies in
instinct; instinct whispers that here, alone of human displays, is something sublime,
something which makes visible one of the actual attributes of that grand and mystic
benignity which every creed calls GOD.

We are not going to exhort you here, after the manner of the familiar screen-caption,
to "go home and be good to your mother." Any man or woman who really has to be
told that is not fit to have a mother. What we are going to tell you is this: that mother-
love is the great controverter of materialism ; that mother-love is the greatest and most
enduring argument for the existence of an all-seeing and all-kind Creator; that mother-
love is the one element not found in the basic chemical constituents of this small star.
Mother-love is the grand-humble answer to age-long faith; it is a living proof of the
reality of religion.

VERA GORDON

\7ERA GORDON represents a strongly denned mother type —
* the type which is wholly wrapped up in her children, and
whose greatest joy lies in administering to their needs. There
have been few mothers in all theatrical history — not excluding
that famous drama of maternal devotion, "Madame X — " —
who have so poignantly appealed to the human heart as Vera
Gordon in "Humoresque." Mrs. Gordon isa mother off the stage
as well as on — a real mother who looks after all the little intimate
details of her children's lives. And in "Humoresque" she was
just that kind of mother; reality and sincerity and a certain
bigness of heart went into her every scene.

MOTHER
O' MINE

KATE BRUCE

l^ATE BRUCE might be designed the "typical" mother, be-
**■ cause every one recognizes in her numerous characteriza-
tions some quality of his or her own mother. As a rule, she is
the forgiving, simple-hearted, patient, trusting mother, whose
hair has been prematurely grayed by the cares and worries of
an arduous life. But whatever happens, she never loses faith.

EDYTHE CHAPMAN

DESPITE the fact that all mothers
are sentimental, the type of
mother with which Edythe Chap-
man has come to be associated as a
result of her film characterizations,
is what we might call hyper-senti-
mental. Mothers nowadays are a
trifle more worldly than they used
to be, though without having lost
any of their sweetness or their capac-
ity for feeling. And since the
Edythe-Chapman mother is not
characteristically modern, she per-
haps weeps more than mothers are
wont to weep to-day. Miss Chap-
man's maternal portrayals have an
aroma of old rose and lavender about
them, and suggest an era when
women were "females," and when
the adjective "clinging" was synon-
ymous with "feminine." Withal,
the mothers she gives us are essen-
tially human and appealing, and she
perfectly fitted the role of Mrs. Dean
in "The Little Shepherd of Kingdom
Come."

She is kind-hearted and generous, and radiates that tender
goodness which somehow only mothers seem to possess. She,
is neither as sentimental as the Edythe-Chapman mother, nor
has she the poise and capable self-possession of the Vera-
Gordon mother. She could never be aggressive, but she gains
her points through her simple, direct and sometimes tragic
appeal. Her mother in "Way Down East" was perfect.

MARY ALDEN

ANOTHER type of film mother, yet one which
has many traits and qualities in common with
all real and lovable mothers, is Mary Alden, whose
memorable characterization in "The Old Nest"
had much to do with creating the sympathy and
heart-interest of that "old folks" picture. Mary
Alden gives us a mother of staunchness and capa-
bility— a mother who instinctively understands
the best way to raise children and to care for them,
and who can always be trusted in emergencies.
We know, without having tasted them, that the
preserves she puts up and the cakes she bakes are
"like mother used to make"; and we are sure that
she always leaves a little extra frosting in the bowl
for the children to lick. If anyone were asked to
describe her maternal characterizations with a
single adjective, the answer would probably be:
"She's the 'old-fashioned* mother."

MARY CARR

OVER THE HILL" would not
have been the human and appeal-
ing picture it was had Mary Carr not
been selected for the mother role. In
fact, it is impossible to think of this
picture without associating it with this
particular actress' lovable personality.
Miss Carr is the frail, self-effacing,
"homey" mother of the films, whose
one interest in life is her family and
fireside. Perhaps she may not be as
competent at making cookies and pre-
serves and at solving difficult domes-
tic problems as one imagines Mary
Alden to be, but she nevertheless
seems to possess to the fullest degree
that most beautiful of all qualities
associated with motherhood — self-sac-
rifice. She impresses one with her
humility; and she is particularly good
at revealing the tragic side of moth-
erhood.

SYLVIA ASHTON

""THERE are not many mothers of
* the type which Sylvia Ashton por-
trays, but she characterizes them (as
in "Don't Change Your Husband"
and "Why Change Your Wife") with
conspicuous artistry. She is generally
selected for the cold and haughty soci-
ety type of mother, who thinks chil-
dren are more or less bothersome and
ought to be turned over to a nurse un-
til they are old enough to understand
and mind. There are times when the
Sylvia-Ashton kind of mother is even
mercenary and calculating, and when
social activities constitute her chief
interest in life. There are a few moth-
ers like this in the world just to make
us realize, by comparison, how truly
wonderful most mothers are; and no
little credit is due Miss Ashton for
portraying them so faithfully and with
such conviction.

RUBY LA FAYETTE

[V[0 selection of stage mothers would
* ^ be representative if it omitted
the name of Ruby La Fayette. She
is the oldest actress, and one of the
best beloved characters, in motion
pictures. She began her stage career
in the 'sixties, and she was seventy-
three when she made her debut on the
screen, in the title role of a film called
"My Mother." She has played in-
numerable mother parts, and is really
the "mother" of all the stage mothers!
Her portrayals necessarily are all of
the old school — she is, in fact, a real
old-fashioned mother, with a bonnet
and shawl; and she has more theatri-
cal children who love her than any
half-dozen of the other mothers com-
bined. She is the type whom people
always refer to as "the dearest old
lady in the world." Her sweetness is
her dominant characteristic.

The sage who declared that the nearest way to a mans
heart was through his stomach had never considered :

ROSALIE

A Contest Fiction Story

By
FRANK CONDON

Illustrated by T. D. Skidmore

IN San Francisco, eating is a recreation. In Chicago, it is a
stern necessity, but in New York, it is an art. In the
world's largest hive of human bees, the gentle custom of sus-
taining life mounts up with the lofty things that be, such as
making bronze bacchantes or painting flowers on silk. There
are gulpers here, to be sure, and queer persons who consume
roast beef hash and rye bread with dill pickles, but the real
eating of New York is done by polished experts, the like of
whom is nowhere else in Christendom.

And the finest eating in this man's town is that which you
will find in nightly progress — yes, and daily, too — in the
sombre, high-ceiled palace of proteins known to the trade as
Tommy-the-Oysterboy's.

Tommy's favored restaurant hides itself on a modest side
street, a block to the east of lower Fifth Avenue, and the
stream of customers is a select and discerning tribe*. Merely to
enter Tommy's portals is to be seized with enormous appetite,
and one's first feeling, upon facing the filled tables some evening
at seven, with the jolly waiters bustling up and down the aisles,
is that here is a true home of food.

Sitting there one night, bathed in a roseate glow and think-
ing naught but kindly of my fellow man, I first beheld Rosalie,
the being apart. It was the evening duty of Rosalie to stand
just inside the oaken doors and serve, and yet her thoughts were
elsewhere. Amidst these splendid surroundings of food and
this cunning call to appetite, Rosalie was a super-soul, who
looked out upon it all from her little wooden crypt near the
door, and watched with a cold eye the hearty men and women,
loathing them so vehemently that her red lips curled in a
scornful smile.

ROSALIE was the cloak girl at Tommy-the-Oysterboy's.
Rather, she was the check-room guardian, because when
you entered, intent upon feeding your body and elevating your
spirit, you were at liberty to leave with Rosalie anything you
carried. Generally you left your hat and your overcoat. The
ladies sometimes deposited their wraps, but Rosalie's main
business in life was overcoats — light overcoats — heavy over-
coats— overcoats with fur collars — overcoats made from the
skins of unfamiliar animals — overcoats dripping with rain or
slushy with snow — but always overcoats.

When you appeared, the doorman greeted you with a smile
and a word of welcome, and indicated Rosalie, who stood by
the entrance to her snuggery. You moved forward and, with-
out a word, Rosalie gave you what you mistook to be a smile,
and her slender figure moved ever so slightly in what you took
to be a bow. You turned and twisted yourself about, edging
towards her crab-like, and extending your arms out behind.
She deftly slipped your overcoat from your back, handed you a
little yellow check with a numeral on it, and your mantle
disappeared in the darkness of her dungeon, wherein there
was a smell of many overcoats, not unpleasant to be sure,
and yet unlike the breath of pansies and violets.

You ordered your dinner, with Otto at your elbow, and ate in
great content, until you bulged and became as the others.
With the smoke rising from your cigar, you stole an occasional
glance towards the cloak room, watching the deft and indus-
trious creature with the red lips and the glinty hair, seeing her
funny little smile for the newcomer, and her half bow, which

was no bow at all, but a scornful shrug, which she invested with
the courtesy of a bow.

I became a steady customer at Tommy's, swept into his maw
by my first meal, and in time I grew to a certain distant friend-
ship, or rather acquaintance, with Rosalie. Once I ventured to
make polite inquiry.

"Do you like this job?" I asked, smiling my best.

"I do not," she returned, looking me in the eye.

"Why do you remain here?"

"That's a funny question. You must be a stranger here."

"No," I laughed, "I am not a stranger. If you don't like
your job, why not get something else?"

Rosalie contemplated the dining room.

"Sometimes,-" she said, "I wish this building would burn
down. I wish the whole block would burn down."

Whereupon she turned to a group of newcomers and took
their coats.

Little by little, the true state of affairs in the cloak room
dawned upon me, and I even came to know of Otto and his
hopeless, silent passion for the one of the bronze hair and the
scarlet lips. Otto is the head waiter at Tommy's. He has
always been the head waiter — a white-faced Teuton, with light
blue eyes, puffy cheeks and a shining, hairless scalp. Some-
where, Otto has a home of his own — the Bronx — Canarsie —
Brooklyn — nobody knows. Likewise, he has a wife and four
children, two of them working in a mill. These are known
facts, though never a soul has seen Otto's wife, and I always
fancied her as a red-faced woman with a large nose.

A head waiter certainly may nourish a passion for a cloak-
room girl, but Rosalie, with Otto's heart for her football, knew
nothing of it. She wondered who sent her the flowers on her
birthday, and the boxes of candy at Christmas, with the red
roses on the lid. Otto knew, but no one else.

As I say, it came to me gradually that this comely creature
at the door of her overcoat eyrie, cherished a bitter resentment
against all mankind, and especially the mankind which invested
Tommy's; which came tramping in at noon and again at night,
craving rich foods in quantity. In her eyes they were repellent
creatures who turned their backs to her and stuck out their
arms feebly, so that she might pull their overcoats off. She
loathed them with a ferocity that was panther-like, and they
never knew, for she hid it from them with a smile they remem-
bered. Otto knew, though. And so did I.

One night I overheard a brief discussion between Rosalie and
Tommy — Tommy, himself — the great man who had invented
and perfected this kiosk of food.

"Why can't I have it?" she asked him.

TOMMY was an immaculate man with oiled hair, which he
parted down the precise middle of his skull, with so amazing
an exactness that it dumfounded the eye. Night after night the
line splitting his head into halves was exactly ,the same. It
made me think of an engineering triumph, where parts are
fitted to the .0006 of an inch. He affected tall white collars
that seemed about to choke him to death, but never did.

"I can't let Henry go, just to give you his place," Tommy
replied earnestly, and I discovered that they were discussing
the cashier and the job behind the mahogany railing. Henry
was an elderly person with a thin face and flowing whiskers.

Monsieur Louie led him down trie aisle and he passed Rosalie, never pausing or giving Her the homage
of a glance. He had no reason to pause. He wore no overcoat. Her lips were wide apart and she was

staring at the newcomer as though bewitched.

He took your check and your money as you passed out and
rang little bells in an impersonal way that deceived you.

"I'd like to be cashier," Rosalie insisted.
_^"Not now," said Tommy, patting her shoulder. "Maybe
some day — "

"When Henry dies," Rosalie said scornfully. "Henry will
never die. Men with such whiskers live forever."

"You stay where you are," Tommy urged. "You're doing
fine, and the customers like you, Rosalie. Maybe, some
time—"

Photoplay Magazine

On another night, I discoursed with Otto.

"Rosalie doesn't like her job, does she?" I remarked in the
manner of one making unimportant conversation.

"Vy shoot she?" Otto demandei, fixing me with a cold blue
eye. "Vot do you know about it?"

"Nothing, except that I surmise she doesn't like it," I
said hastily.

"Veil, you vooden like it, vood you?" Otto pursued. "If
you had to stood dere all tay, you vooden like it, vood you?
Who tolt you she didn't like it?"

"Nobody," I replied, seeing that the topic irked him.
"How's the squab saute tonight?"

After that, upon my regular nightly appearance, Otto
regarded me with suspicion, and it was weeks before he left off
surveying me for signs of sentimental interest in the cloak girl.

Then came John

Davids, and everything

suddenly changed at Tom-
my's. I felt immediately
that a novel and disturb-
ing element had swum in
amongst us.

It was one of those roar-
ing December nights in
New York, with a fine
snow sifting down from
the roofs, and a wind from
the sea— a strong, cold,
blustery wind that would
drive a stone dog off his
pedestal. I hurried into
Tommy's at my usual
hour and drew a breath of
relief. Inside it was warm
and fragrant with the
odors of cooking. I shook
off the snow and handed
my overcoat to Rosalie.

"It's a fine night," I
said. "A night for over-
coats."

Rosalie gave me her
tight-lipped smile and I
followed Monseer Louie
to my favorite table, which
is off in a corner w'here I
can study the chefs in
their sacred ministrations.
Nothing gives me so much
innocent delight as to
watch a busy cook flying
about with both hands
full of steaming mysteries.

Gradually the room
filled, as Tommy's always
fills of an evening. The
gentlemen arrived from
their offices, and their
womenfolk came bustling

i.i with them, cr met them in the little corridor. Taxicabs
and private cars drew up before the doors, emptied themselves
and scurried off to make room for others. The clatter of
dishes grew into a dull clangor, and the bus boys trotted from
table to table, laying the utensils of eating and filling the glasses.

DEHIND his private bar, the oyster man doubled his speed
*-* and Tommy's was in full cry. A stranger walked slowly in,
] aused uncertainly by Henry's desk and looked around the
room. I knew he was a stranger among us, because he was
a striking type, and I had never seen him before.

He lingered for an instant under I Ienry's fatherly eye. Mon-
seer Louie went to him, touched him on the arm and performed
his ancient ritual, which consists of the murmured word "one,"
in an interrogative tone, and the holding up of a single finger.

This was John Davids, though none knew it that night. He
was a giant of a man, tall, spare, grim-looking, ungainly, with
powerful shoulders and long arms. In his hand he clutched a
hat without shape. Despite the sea-borne wind that blustered
across town, the stranger wore no overcoat. He was clad as a
man in springtime, who goes among the blueberries. He wore
a pepper-and-salt suit of summer thinness, and the snow
lingered upon his shoulders.

Monseer Louie led him down the aisle and he passed Rosalie,
never pausing or giving her the homage of a glance. He had no
reason to pause. He wore no overcoat. With his battered
hat jn his hand, he sauntered behind Monseer Louie and took
a table at the far end, beside the wall. I gazed at Rosalie.
Her red lips were wide apart and she was staring at the new-
comer as though bewitched. That was the beginning of
Romance. I felt it in my bones, though I am not a person of
unusual perspicacity.

The man ate his dinner alone, looking about him, observing
the well-fed horde, smiling at the tremendous sincerity of the
oyster opener, who in his moments of stress is as inspired an
artist as the leader of any orchestra. I studied the newcomer
and observed what he ate. His dinner — two slices of toast,
a pot of tea and a salad of lettuce.

~TH0washe? That I

The girl who went
get away from wa

soon discovered, as
he came again to Tommy's.
He was John Davids — the
same Davids whose name
leaped into the papers
when the Merris-Coulter
expedition returned from
the arctic regions after
five years of battle with
the ice. No wonder, eh?
No marvel that John
Davids walked into Tom-
my's of a DecemBer night
in a three-piece suit of
flimsy stuff, and wearing
no overcoat.

With a dozen starving
dogs and a sledge, and
starving himself, he had
traversed the barren ice
up by the Pole — the sacred
Pole — and for three weeks
he had fought his way
over trackless hummocks,
until in the end, he had
secured Captain Coulter
and his crew. That was
only one of his notable
deeds. The newspapers
had a veritable debauch
with it when they learned
the details.

THIS was the silent
stranger who came into
Tommy's for a meal and
sat there obscurely, like
any ribbon buyer from
Grand Rapids. He must
have smiled to himself at
the winds we called bitter.
That fine stinging snow —
to him, a zephyr.
No one knows the moment when he first noticed Rosalie, for
his face was a mask. I believe it was on the occasion of his
second visit. It was just such another night — a wolfish night,
with the north wind swaggering through the town, slapping the
faces of puny humans. John Davids took his table and ordered
his sparing meal.

"That man," said Tommy to me, in a tone of deep feeling,
"is John Davids, the explorer."

"I know it," I replied. "He looks durable."
There were whispers among the guests and the men pointed
him out and told their women to look at the austere figure
at the side-table — Davids, the arctic fellow. Rosalie, he
seemed to fascinate. On his second visit, he sat nearer her
nook and she could and did watch him with eyes that sparkled.
From the instant Otto first beheld Davids, he scowled
upon him — concealed scowls, of course, for who is a head-
waiter, and what business has he to dislike a customer? Otto's
dislike grew day by day, just as acquaintance and then friend-
ship grew up between Rosalie and the explorer. This, at
first, was nothing but the vague messages of eye to eye.
She glanced more frequently at John's table than at any
other. I caught them exchanging a smile.
(Continued on page 104)

into the movies to
iting on trie table.

"Bob Hampton of Placer"
sent its two heroes, young
and old — played by James
Kirkwood and Wesley
Barry — into Custer's last
encounter with the In-
dians, in which every
unite man was massacred
and scalped.

THE UNHAPPY ENDING

Proving that the mental standard of motion-picture
patrons is a mature and intelligent type of mind
which can grasp and enjoy both truth and art.

By FREDERICK VAN VRANKEN

OXE of the chief arguments with which the literary contention; for it can not be denied that motion pictures for
elite have sought to disparage motion pictures has been many years have obviously catered to the superstitions and
based on the fact that no producer, however cour- sentimentalities of the less civilized members of the human
ageous, would dare murder the hero, or poison the race. But, on the other hand, it is as unfair to judge and con-
heroine, or by some other act of diabolism, separate the lovers demn the art of the screen by the criterion of the other arts, as

at the final fadeout.

The ubiquitous
and invariable
"glad" ending of
our photoplays, with
a noble young
gentleman and a vir-
tuous young lady
locked together in a
fond, pre-nuptial
embrace, and their
yearning lips en-
gaged in a chaste
but ardent buss,
constitutes irrefra-
gable proof — so the
enlightened ones tell
us — that the films
are in a primitive
and deplorable
state, unworthy of
serious consider-
ation by anyone
above the mental
status of a moron.

The intelligentsia
go on to argue that
just as infants of the
nursery must have
sugar-coated fairy-
tales in which all the
villains meet their
end in a kettle of
boiling oil, and all
the righteous per-
sons come into fabulous fortunes and "live happily ever after. "
so must the infants of the cinema have saccharine romances in
which all the wicked characters are sent to the gallows or shoved
over a cliff, and all the pious. God-fearing people reap the
various supposititious rewards of virtue, and end up at the
hymeneal altar amid the caressing strains of Lohengrin.

There has been, of course, a certain amount of justice in this

•Gy

Blood,"

ypsy Dlood, made in Europe, was a big success in America; and
its climax was the stabbing of the heroine by her jealous lover. Pola
Negri played Carmen.

it would be to judge
and condemn an in-
fant by the cultural
standards we would
apply to, say, ex-
President Eliot of
Harvard.

But what about
the unhappy end-
ing? What does it
signify? And why
should so much em-
phasis be placed on
it by the cinema's
detractors?

Up to a short
time ago there were
few, if any, films
w li i c h ended in
gloom or catas-
trophe. It would
have been as fatal
for a screen impre-
sario to put forth an
expensive picture
with a lachrymose
or lugubrious finale,
as for a publisher to
print a volume of
juvenile stories in
which the dragon
chewed up the noble
knight, and the old
witch succeeded in
permanently turn-
ing the golden-haired princess into a rattle snake.

But this state of affairs no longer exists in the films. Motion-
picture production has grown and developed with the rapidity
of some nocturnal fungus. Not even the night-school heroes in
Horatio Alger, Jr.'s, "Onward and Upward" novels learned
as much so quickly, or improved themselves with such swift-
ness and dispatch, as have the filmplays, these past few years.

Photoplay Magazine

And — what is of equal importance — the intellectual stand-
ard of motion-picture patrons also has advanced. Where once
they sat with gaping mouths, benignly swallowing whatever
was thrust down their esophagi, they now have become fussy
and analytical, and want to see the bill-of-fare and know who
the cook is before they will empty their pockets at the glass
cage. They have long since become privy to the problems of
picture making, and converse glibly about close-ups, dissolves,
irises, double-exposures, continuity, and other such technicalities.

The result has been
that during the past
few years films of a
much higher order have
been produced. In
fact, many pictures —
among them some of
the most successful fea-
ture films — have had
unhappy endings — that
is, endings which were
more or less logical,
natural and intelligent,
and which did not
make their appeal ex-
clusively to the dis-
ciples of Dr. Frank
Crane and Mrs. Gene
Stratton Porter.
Never again can the
exalted gentlemen of
the critical fraternity
condemn the cinema
for its persistent de-
bauch of sunshine and
gladness. In this re-
spect, at least, the art
of motion pictures has
taken its place along-
side the great art of all
time.

For instance, there
was "Broken Blos-
soms," in which the heroine died of a brutal flogging and the
hero committed hari-kari. "The Four Horsemen of the
Apocalypse, " one of the most pretentious of our screen dramas,
permitted its handsome, pomaded leading man to be killed on
the battle-field of France, thus forcing the heroine into a life
of tearful domestic sacrifice.

"The Passion Flower" — Norma Talmadge's pictunzation of
Benavente's drama of Spanish life — was a psychological study
of unrequited amour, which terminated almost in a shambles.
" Bob Hampton of Placer" sent its two heroes, young and old,
into Custer's last encounter with the Indians, in which every

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse," one of trie most pretentious

of our screen dramas, permitted its handsome leading man to be killed

on the battlefield of France.

white man was massacred and scalped. (A few years ago Boh
would have controverted history by killing forty or fifty In
dians single-handed, and escaping into the arms of a waitin.;
damoi elle.)

John Barrymore's great screen success of Stevenson's "Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" adhered to the tragic climax of the
book. "Behind the Door" — a much discussed war film in
which Hobart Bosworth played the lead — not only ended un-
happily, but included so grisly and repelling an episode that

the mere suggestion of
it to a producer three
years ago would have
given him a fatal aortic
aneurism.

"The Sin That Was
His," featuring William
Faversham, and
"Gates of Brass," with
Frank Keenan in the
leading role — both im-
portant and successful
pictures — ended on a
decidedly minor chord.
And recently we had
an elaborate and costly
screen version of Kip-
ling's "Without Ben-
efit of Clergy," one of
the most poignantly
tragic love stories in
English literature,
wherein the young
mother-heroine dies of
cholera.

Then there were the
two Gene O'Brien pic-
tures— "The Last
Door" and "The Won-
derful Chance" — ■
which ended unhap-
pily, despite the fact
that they made no pre-
tense of being anything more than regulation program pictures.
"Gypsy Blood," though made in Europe, was a big success in
America; and its climax was the stabbing of the heroine by her
jealous lover.

One of the most interesting commentaries on the subject of
the unhappy ending in motion pictures, was furnished by the
film based on Sir Gilbert Parker's "The Right of Way." The
producers, seeking to sit on two stools at once, made a pair of
endings to this picture — one unhappy, like the book; the other
in accord with the doctrines of Pollyanna — and gave the
exhibitors their choice. Did these {Continued on page 101)

In .Broken Ulossoms, the heroine (Lillian Gish) died of a
brutal flogging and the hero (Richard Barthelmess) com-
mitted hari-kari.

"The Passion Flower" — Norma Talmadge s pictunzation

of Jacinto Benavente's drama of Spanish life — was a

psychological study of unrequited amour.

Judith, supremely happy
now, turned to Dick Stuart.
It was the hour of victory
for Woman s greater faith.

HAIL

the

WOMAN

A tale of the
triumph of the
greater faith
of a woman —
and a love.

GENE

SHERIDAN

OLD OLIVER BERESFORD looked sternly on a sinful
world through iron-rimmed glasses. He was. the
rich man of the hard little village of Flint Hill. That
white-housed and stone-fenced New Hampshire
community looked upon him as its leading citizen and old
Oliver accepted his status as the will of a just God. And since
each man makes his god in his own image Oliver Beresford's
world was a sharply conventional despotism, bounded by bare
utility and the traditional virtues of the homely in life, mind
and conduct.

"Down street" from the Beresford's prim and uncomfort-
able home was the prim and uncomfortable church that Oliver
ruled, midway between the big summer hotel, where the
wicked and ungodly idlers of the cities came to waste the hours
and dance.

That was Oliver's world, with his iron-willed God living
in the tall spired church and his favorite form of the Devil
living in the rambling hotel with the low French windows.

The meekness of Mrs. Beresford was of that completeness
of quality that must have satisfied mightily the frigid fancy
of hard old Oliver. Woman's place was the home and her
law was the law of God as interpreted to her daily by her
husband. Nothing was more certain in Oliver's mind than
the theory that woman must suffer through all the ages in
retribution for the Original Sin of Eve.

But the meekness of Mrs. Beresford's years of silent sub-
jection and servitude in the cold scheme of Oliver's life was
only as the lulling stillness before the bursting of the storm.
In Judith, the elder child, there was to come the flowering
of the expression that follows repression. The girl was to
redeem trie Beresford history from the blankness of empty
frozen doctrines and endow it with color, beauty and the
warmth of a truer faith.

Even the rock-ribbed understanding of old Oliver saw to
his displeasure that the girl was uncommonly beautiful, and
inwardly he felt she had qualities of mind that made him
not entirely comfortable under her gaze. Therefore it was
with greater sternness that he prosecuted his characteristic
and firm laid plans for the destiny of his family. It was set

and determined by him that Judith was to marry Joe Hurd,
a promising young farmer of Flint Hill, a bit narrow perhaps
and hard, but well-to-do. And it was equally set and deter-
mined that David, the younger of the Beresford children, was
to go into the service of the Lord, and if Divine Wisdom so
willed, he was to be a foreign missionary, carrying the message
of the hard Beresford creed to the ignorant and sinfully happy
heathen of strange distant lands.

But even Judith's love for her brother David could not
entirely cover her jealousy of the education that was to be
his, his going away to college and all that, while she was about
to be sent into a life of the sort of servitude that her mother
had known, housework and childbearing, and Sundays in a
straight-backed pew — in Flint Hill forever and ever and ever.
And then at the end, to be buried on that same Flint Hill.

IT was a formal, prosaic letter, untouched by imagination
or the warmth of love that David wrote home from college
announcing his homecoming for a vacation. Old Oliver
read it aloud to the wife and daughter in the evening, calling
Judith sharply away from her musing consideration of the
beauties of the evening twilight to listen.

Presently Joe Hurd came. It was the weekly evening of
choir practice at the church. Bored and weary, Judith
greeted the young farmer with the formal politeness of Flint
Hill, and together they went out into the soft, sweet darkness
of the spring evening.

As they passed the hotel the weekly dance was in progress.
The lawn was dotted with gay parties in sprightly sport
clothes and gay flannels. Through the windows of the ball-
room came the lively music of the orchestra, playing tunes
that Flint Hill never heard elsewhere and totally foreign to
the keyboards of the scroll-sawed reed organs of Flint Hill
parlors.

Judith lingered by the fence with a wistfulness in her face
that discomforted Joe Hurd, impatient to be away from this
zone of expensive frivolity and safe on the hard ground of
Flint Hill proper.

Strolling by, came Wyndham Gray. The worldly-wise eyes

Photoplay Magazine

With her comfortable little prosperity she gave David a better home and its
advantages. David was an adorable baby — happy, sweet-tempered, lovable.

of this playwright and student of humanity found fresh
interest in Judith's fair face. Her rare mingling of beauty
and intelligence that shone from her clear eyes marked her
to Gray as an unusual person, and he was weary indeed with
usual persons, more especially the usual woman. Gray
paused a moment and chatted with Judith and Joe. His
level look of interest did not escape Judith. Here was a
person she decided, catching her breath, who knew things,
a man from out of the world of bigger life. But in
fairness to Judith it was the world that Gray represented as
a Person rather than Gray as a Man that interested her.

Again and again through that interminable choir practice
Judith's mind turned back to the gay hotel.

IN the rundown cottage, "the place where the Odd Jobs
*■ Man lives," Nan Higgins, his step-daughter, waited the
homecoming of David Beresford with an anxious heart.

Motherless Nan was the town symbol of poverty. She was
" made even more pathetically poor by her yearning, unloved
beauty. After a fashion she kept house for her heartless,
shiftless father, and hoped against hope where all was hopeless.
It had been as inevitable as the running of water down hill
that she had proven an easy conquest for young David Beres-
ford. And it was a bit of the same sort of social gravitation
that had made David in his spineless timidity seek her rather
than other girls of the village more fenced about by the pro-
tections of home and training. With Nan he had dared, and
daring won. David had sopped his Flint Hill conscience by
secretly marrying Nan, and in the fear of the rage of his father
had bound her by promises most solemn to keep the marriage
a secret.

But the day was fast coming when the clandestine affair of
the Odd Jobs Man's daughter and the son of proud old Oliver
Beresford could be kept a secret no longer.

Photoplay Magazine

hjuulc '

Helplessly Nan waited until David should come that she
might tell him their awesome secret. Nan had grown up
under the Flint Hill doctrine of passive endurance for women.

Oliver Beresford and his wife met David at the depot the
next day. While they stood welcoming their son so proudly,
Nan, in her sad best dress, stood at the edge of the depot
crowd a few steps away, bewildered and frightened, trying to
catch David's eye. But the young man, equally frightened,
dared only cast a fleeting glance her way as he climbed into
the Beresford family carriage.

NAN did not know what she expected, but any way she was
violently hurt and disappointed. She struggled home with
her grief and fell fainting in the doorway of her home. Hig-
gins, suspicious and cruel, jerked her back to consciousness
and threatened her into confession. But loyal to her solemn
oath, she did not reveal the secret of their marriage.

The Beresford family was grouped about the dinner table
with old Oliver listening proudly to David's recital of college
experiences when Higgins, dragging his protesting step-
daughter behind him, burst in on them.

David went white. Judith, with her keen intuition, sensed
it all in a glance.

Higgins blurted out his coarse version of the story as Oliver
Beresford drew himself up in stern, hurt pride. Beresford
wheeled as his son made a move toward the wilting, abject
Nan.

"You keep out of this, David. You have done enough!"

David, trained for years to subject himself utterly to the
will of his father, stood back, weakly sharing the suffering of
Nan and not daring to make a step or a move in her behalf.

"Higgins!" The Odd Jobs Man looked up expectantly to
Oliver Beresford. "Higgins — I am going to give you a check
for five thousand dollars, and that is the end of this disgraceful
affair."

However much Beresford's iron conscience made him desire
to punish his son, his pride made him take the course that
meant protection for them both, as he saw it — -and the out-
ward preservation of the Beresford name.

"Five thousand dollars?" Higgins said it lingeringly,
frowning to conceal his inward exultation. He had never
expected to have even one
thousand dollars. "Yes, I'll
take it, Mr. Beresford. And
you're getting off easy at that,
too."

Oliver Beresford without a
word turned to draw a check.

Judith, afire with her sense
of man's injustice to woman,
broke into a cry of rebellion.

"But what about David,
father? Is Nan the only one
to bear the penalty?"

"Hush, child — this is none
of your affair — for shame,
hush!"

NAN kept her faith with
David and said no word of
their secret marriage, but at
home, hoping to shield herself
from the taunts of her step-
father, she showed him her
marriage certificate.

In cruel rage, as he saw that
document, he feared it might
mean the five thousand dollars
slipping from him.

"Aw, that's a fake — you're
not married at all — he fooled
you. Now, get out." Hig-
gins drove her out of the
house.

He tore the marriage cer-
tificate into bits.

That night Nan crept into
the house and steathily
gathered her pitiful belong-
ings and stole away to the
night train bound for New
York. What destiny the city

might hold for her she could not even guess, but she would
be away, away from Flint Hill.

At that same hour, heavy with heartache and hate of man's
cruelty, Judith Beresford threw herself out of the prim house
and went slowly down to the farmyard gate, to be alone with
herself and her thoughts. She was choking with her emotions.

As she stood there thinking over again that scene at the
dinner table, Wyndham Gray met her in his evening ramble.

"You look gloomy — what is troubling you?" He addressed
her with a polite and sympathetic curiosity.

"I wonder," she said, flaming up, "what God has against
women?"

Gray regarded her a moment very quietly.

"Perhaps," he said, "He blames them for filling the world
with men."

JUDITH had no smile for his whimsy, but that conversation
was the beginning of a friendship. In Gray she found a new
world of understanding. She could talk to him of things
beyond the ken of her Flint Hill folks.

Wyndham Gray and Judith met often thereafter and talked
long. He loaned her books and told her of the play he was
writing and made the world a bigger place to her than she
had thought it could have been. And through it all Gray
was a Person to her rather than a Man.

David, with some inward troubling under the thought of
the accusing eyes of .his sister, once went to the Higgins home
seeking Nan, only to be driven away by her step-father.
Then later, while away at school, David tried to no avail the
services of a detective agency. Nan was gone, and it was no
use. It was easier for David to go his way as it had been
laid down for him by his father.

One evening in summer Wyndham Gray suggested to Judith
that she come to his cabin and hear him read his finished play.
Her eyes lighted with interest and she agreed.

Judith slipped from the house, tossing a remark to her
mother that she was going to the home of a neighbor to spend
the evening.

That evening Joe Hurd drove over to a trustees meeting at
the church. He was on his way home when he passed Gray's
cabin and heard Judith's merry {Continued on page 107)

"This is your last night in my house, Judith Beresford!" stormed the old man.

WHEN VENUS
ORDERED HASH

Judging by Betty Blythe 's

plaint of early poverty,

the Garden of Beauty once

bloomed in the desert.

ADA

PATTERSON

HAVE been hungry!"

This from that synonym of splendor,

the Queen of Sheba.

Betty Blythe, tall, of slow-moving,
dignified grace, uttered her hunger cry in the
spaciousness of her high-ceilinged drawing
room on Fifty-fourth street a minute west of
the Avenue, which in Xew York is, of course,
Fifth Avenue. She looked a part of the
sumptuousness of the shining piano, the glitter-
ing little table, the French window and its
hangings of blue velvet. I was thinking,
vigorously, "You are more beautiful than
your pictures." But all that I said was:

"Really?" (To paraphrase John Barrymore's startling
cry in "Redemption": "What we think is so different from
what we say!")

"Yes," Miss Blythe insisted. "It was when I was twenty.
I had come here with the assets of a college education, cul-
tured family environment, study in Paris, and experience as
a concert and vaudeville singer. But New York would not

Victor Georg

An informal portrait of trie twentieth century incarnation of
Sheba's queen. Miss Betty Blythe.

Can you imagine this beauty having been so hungry that
she seriously considered the river as a haven of refuge?

have me. It was not long until I walked Broadway
hungry'.

"In my crass folly I thought that an education derived
from the well-known Westlake school of Los Angeles, and the
University of Southern California and the Latin Quartier of
Paris would impress the metropolis. It didn't. I believed
that two years of singing before the public might count for
something in the East. I discovered that
it counted as much as a cipher placed on
the wrong side of figures.

"Fortunately I knew about the Three
Arts Club. You know the club? Girls
who are students or are beginning work
in music or painting or the stage live
there because it is cheap. Also because
they are chaperoned. Deaconess Hall
originated it, and Mrs. Willard Straight
and other wealthy philanthropic women
are its patronesses. Deaconess Hall got
the Three Arts Club well on its feet, then
started the Rehearsal Club, which was
founded to provide good luncheons at low
prices to chorus girls so that they would
not get into bad company for a lobster
or a porterhouse steak at one of the
neighboring hotels.

" I lived there for eight dollars a week.
But I could only get two meals at that
rate. For three meals I should have had
to pay nine dollars a week and I could
not afford that extra dollar a week. I
was young and healthy, with no need nor
desire to reduce my weight. In fact I was
too lanky and every' day I grew lankier.
Tramping about the city in search of
work didn't (Continued on page 100)

How I Keep

in Condition

By LILA LEE

THIS is the fourth of a series of articles— not
beauty articles, but advice on how to keep fit
by women who know: famous beauties of the
screen. The film star, more than any other woman
of any other time, has to guard her greatest asset:

her good looks. She has to keep in perfect con-
dition always— for if she doesn't, the camera's cruel
eye calls attention to her shortcomings. This month,
Lila Lee gives you her recipe for health and
beauty.

HAVEyo u
noticed
that I'm
thinner? It
isn't the result
of a clever modiste,
trick lighting, or a
sympathetic camera-
man. I really have
lost weight — fifteen
pounds within
a month — and I've
never felt better in
my life. Moreover,
I intend to stay that
way, and I've evolved
a simple little system
for preventing that
fifteen pounds from
coming back.

"M y , L i 1 a , b u t
you're getting
plump!" the other
girls at the studio
used to say to me.

I was — but it didn't
bother me at the
time. I thrived
gloriously on
the California
sunshine, and
hard work at the
studio never seemed
to exert the vitality-
sapping influence on
me that it has on
some people. I took
a little exercise at
irregular intervals. I
rode a lot in auto-
mobiles when I
should have been walking
on weight.

Then Opportunity knocked
heavy to answer!

Opportunity was introduced to me by William deMille,
who summoned me to his office one day.

"How much do you weigh, Lila?" he asked.

Readers, I cannot tell a lie.

"One hundred and eighteen pounds," I answered, and it
sounded like a ton.

"Hmm," said Mr. deMille. "Eight pounds too much."
He pondered a moment. "Could you take off eight pounds
in two weeks?" he suddenly inquired.

I thought perhaps I could.

"Well, if you can, I want you to play the feminine lead in
'After the Show.' Otherwise — "

I knew I could!

I had read the story, I love to work with Mr. deMille, and
I wanted the part.

"All right," were his parting words. "But remember —

Lila Lee, as Tweeny, the slavey of Cecil
deMille's "Male and Female." When
she weighed eight pounds too much!

I was very happy — and I put
-and I was eight pounds too

two weeks to the dot.
In the opening
scenes of the pictures,
you must seem worn
and thin, and you
could never do it the
way you look now.
A hundred and ten
pounds is the abso-
lute limit."

That very day I
went in to Los
Angeles and
consulted a physi-
cian who specializes
in dietetics, and put
myself under his
orders. He was very
nice and cheerful.

"Not at all a diffi-
cult case, Miss Lee,"
he glowed brightly,
"provided you have
the self-restraint to
go through with
the program I
prescribe."

It sounded omi-
nous. But it really
wasn't so bad, and I
can cheerfully recom-
mend it if you are in-
terested in a harmless
method of losing
weight.

For the first week
I was on the strictest
of diets. Every two
hours, whether at
home or at the studio,
I drank a glass of un-
sweetened orange juice. On the alternate hour I took a
simple magnesia compound — the doctor's prescription. That
— and nothing more! — comprised my diet. Not even a
luscious cantaloupe for breakfast, no dashing across the street
between scenes for an ice cream cone, no lovely dinners at
the Ambassador! Just orange juice and fizz water!

Well, for two days I suffered. Then the world began to
take on a little rosier tint; I was getting used to it.

For one hour each evening I was in the hands of a masseuse
without a heart. Her orders were evidently to treat me
rough, and her fingers were like iron. How she kneaded and
pummeled me!

I had a system of setting-up exercises all typewritten out
for me and illustrated with cute little drawings. I went
through them from "Figure 1" to "Figure 12" the'first thing
when I awoke in the morning. Then to my open bedroom
window for a five-minute session of deep breathing, and thence
to a cold shower.

The doctor had sternly forbidden me to drive my car to
the studio in the morning. I had (Continued on page J02)

Lila, today : the slim heroine
William deMille's "After the show
Weight one hundred pounds.

IN THE FALL THE WELL-DRESSED WO

MBONART has designed for rou a
• marvellous wrap. It is quite the
smartest I have seen for some time. It
is of rich black duvetine with trim-
mings of caracul at cuffs and collar.
The collar is the most extraordinary of
all collars! It wraps about Madame's
little neck in a generous fold and fol-
lows the edge of her cloak to the hem.

AN afternoon frock; another of M.
Bonart's creations. It follows the
mode in every particular; but it is
original. Of black and white — the
favored combination of Paris and
Parisiennes. Of black crepe de chine
and white georgette. Of a distin-
guishing silhouette, the long waist, the
uneven hem-line. The sleeves: dreams!

AN importation from Paris, by Gid-
ding, of Fifth Avenue. A most
amazing evening gown, of Spanish in-
spiration. Of black velvet, with a
superb sweep; red flowers at the waist
and adorning the skirt. It is long, and
trained. Madame, not Mademoiselle,
should wear this. It is for a brunette
with flashing eyes, and a marble brow.

The Observations of
Carolyn Van Wyck

AND now comes fall; and
then, winter; to me, the best
time of the year! It is my
season of inspiration. And fash-
ions never seem so sprightly as in
the time of snow and fur. As I
write this, we have not yet, in sun-
ny Manhattan, had the slightest
hint of coming cold. But the red-
gold leaves on the trees and the
crisp cool air prophesy winter; and
nature is a true prophet. To the
well-dressed woman winter is al-
ways welcome, because she is pre-
pared for it. On these pages you
may see some new and delightful
things for fall — and later. M.
Bonart has given you what I con-
sider his most original and effec-
tive designs. And besides, there
are fashion notes from a smart
shop, and some from that fashion
leader, the film star!

By the way, these designs by
Raoul Bonart are yours; you may
copy them as you like. I will al-
ways be very glad to answer any
questions you care to ask as to how
to make them.

.*UEJJ<

QJTlJ^M Uglu-

SEE these shoes at "the left. Per-
fectly charming shoes, and quaint
as can be. Of black satin, as you
see, with straps in a design of beads,
and a saucy silk sosette! They be-
long to Betty Compson; and she is
wearing them in this photograph. I
am sure you all like Betty's stock-
ings, of a fine silk mesh.

SMiss Van IVyck's answers to ques-
tions will be found on page 92.

MAN TURNS TO THOUGHTS OF CLOTHES!

TO the right: a
blouse. It is a
blouse, really; but
worn with a smart
skirt, it makes a
charming afternoon
costume. Black and
red make the color
scheme; there is a
good neck-line, and
the blouse ties, as
blouses have been
doing of late, at
the side. From
Gidding.

HERE is a hat,
from G i d -
ding's. I spied it
in their Fifth
avenue window
and had it sketched
for you. It is a
chapeau for the
jenne fille.

BETTY COMP-
SON wears this
little hand-made
turban, of gray
wool, for windy
days. This, too, is
a hat for the deb-
utante. I like it
very much.

SPAIN has in-
spired many of
our gowns and hats
this season. This
one is decidedly
Spanish, with its
real lace, combin-
ing the effects of
the mantilla and
the comb.

TO THE left :
Many women
count theirwinter
lost if they have
not some such fur
wrap as this, im-
ported by Gidding.
It is of ermine, the
queen of furs; it is
lined with black
satin, and sashed
with the same. It
may also be of any
of the other and less
expensive furs, with
the same smart
effect.

(? '

THE cinema celebrities are quite
as able as anyone to tell you
what is being worn. Here is little
Lila Lee, in the sort of dinner gown
I should like to see every young girl
wear. It is of orchid, a good shade;
and georgette, a good material. It
is a simple embroidery design.

MARY MILES M INTER went
to Paris. And of course she
shopped. She brought back with
her one of the most adorable frocks
I have ever seen: a Jean Lanvin
model, of apple green taffeta, with a
girdle of flowers with black velvet
centers.

FOR the street; for the office; for
travelling — I recommend this
suit, worn by Betty Compson. It
is of serge, and very simply made;
but it has an air all its own. You
can be, you know, quite as well
dressed in a costume such as this, as
in those more elaborate.

FROM

AN OLD

ALBUM

Mary Anderson (below),
while playing in her reper-
toire, including Juliet and
Meg Merrilles, at Booth's
Theatre, in 1883.

Sylvia Gerrish, a Casino
favorite, called "The girl
with the poetic legs, in 1893.
After a picturesque career
she died in poverty.

Fanny Ward (below), while

she was a model, between

whiles of touring in Adonis

in 1887.

oVcLw-dA;

MARY ANDERSON.

LTy NEW YORK.

Annie Sutherland, while sing-
ing in Venus at the Casino
in 1893. Miss Sutherland s
last appearance was the mys-
terious housekeeper in a
recent dramatic alleged solu-
tion of the Elwell murder
mystery.

Fanny Rice (below), while
burlesquing MaryAnderson s
favorite role of Galatea, 1885
to 1889. Known to two gen-
erations as "Jolly Fanny.

gXcw-frWv\

Fanny Ward.

NEW YORK.

GHOSTS!
Old photo-
graphsare ghosts
of former selves.
They reflect the spirit
that once lived in pic-
tured forms. That is the
reason we are fascinated
by ancient portraits.
Old photographs, old
thoughts, old emotions,
old lives. Hence the in-
terest in these mellow
likenesses of favorites
we know or have known.
Materially speaking,
please note that hips
were popular in that
period.

Via Long Distance

An interview over four thousand
miles of wire with a model
married man. Will Rogers was
the most famous monologue
artist on the American stage be-
fore he went into films with such
great success.

By ADA PATTERSON

WHAT do you consider a model married
man? of any kind? Or in the movies?
A deaf and dumb gentleman.

Have you any rules for happy married
life? What are they?

Yes I have rules, but they have never worked.

If a family jar is imminent,
how avoid it?

If a family jar is imminent just

do like Carpentier. Prepare to

take the loser's end.

What should a man do toward
bringing up the children? What
is a mother's part?

If I can keep mine out of jail I
will feel I have been a success.
A mother's part? I think the
modern mother should see her
children more often. I advise
Tuesdays and Fridays.

How many children have you
and what are their names and
ages? What part have you in
the children's education?

My children have very romantic
and poetical names. Bill, age 10;
Mary, age 8, and Jim, age 6.

I have taught them all as far as
the second grade. That's as far as
I could go, as I had never
been farther myself.

Do you still intend
to go back to live in ^

Oklahoma when you
"get enough money"
as you once told me?
If not what are your
plans?

Not till Oklahoma
sends a married woman
instead of an old maid
to Congress. My plans
are the same as they have
been for the last two
years — to stand in my
yard and direct tourists
to Mary Pickford's
home.

What is your idea of
a well brought-up boy?
Of a well brought-up
girl?

My idea of a well
brought-up boy is one
that will read the funny
cartoons without asking
you to do it: of a girl —
one who doesn't comb
her hair over her ears.

How much time
should a man spend at

•**^*!>..

Above : Bill, Mary, and Jim entertaining the

theater of their home at Beverly. Hills, Cal

breakfast porch. "When do I eat V

home? You know a wife's usual complaint is
that her husband is always away from home.

Well, the railroads used to allow you twenty
minutes for a meal. That means sixty minutes at
home in the day time. Then you know, some
fellows need more sleep than others.

What part of her husband's
earnings should a wife have to
spend? Do you believe in an
allowance for a wife, and what
proportion of a man's income
should that be? Money, or how
to spend it, is said to be the chief
cause of failures in marriage.
What are jour views about how
to prevent differences about
money?

Street car conductors usually al-
low the company five per cent.
Now, I think a wife is just as essen-
tial as a street car owner. So I
think that very equitable. Yes, I
believe in an allowance for a wife,
but not mine. You see women
vary so. The government has prac-
tically settled the income problem
between husband and wife by tak-
ing the income.

My views on how to
prevent differences
about money?

Well, I always try to
meet my wife half way.
If there is something
that she wants bad I
take her down and let
her see it.

What kind of a girl
should a man marry tc
ensure his happines:
and hers?

Oh, some girl between
100 and 175 pounds.
One with either dark or
light hair. One with
two eyes is preferable if
you can get 'em. Get
a Jew or a Gentile; you
can never trust these
Mohammedans. Get
one around four or five
or six feet high. A good
idea in marrying is to al-
ways take some girl that
will have you.

What kind should
he avoid when marry-
ing?

Well, if a girl wont speak
to you or notice you, it's
{Continued on page 114)

folks in the basement
Below, the Rogers
asks father.

Tony Sarg and his "shadow box." The marionettes are sil-
houetted against the white sheet. The scene is from "The
First Circus," one of the amusing "Almanac" series.

Movies

on
Strings

By
TONY SARG

EDITOR'S NOTE.— Tony Sarg has
long been prominent among Amer-
ican illustrators, but it is very
recently that he has transferred his
artistic activities to the screen. Some
years ago, Mr. Sarg became interested
in a revival of the marionette theater,
and produced plays of ancient and
mediaeval origin in which puppets
moved by strings were employed to
unfold the story. In the course of his
investigations he stumbled on the fact
that 1800 years ago, in China, a form
of moving pictures was in vogue through
the means of shadowgraphs. This
led Sarg to revive the shadowgraph
through the medium of the screen,
and the "Tony Sarg Almanac" was
first projected in the Criterion Theater,
Manhattan, with great success. Per-
haps you have already seen the first
three of the quaint comedies: "The
First Circus," "The Tooth Carpenter"
and "Why They Love Cavemen."

THE art of the shadowgraph reaches far back into history.
Many hundreds of years ago in China the most artistic
form of the shadow-theater existed. Here the little
figures, made of transparent buffalo hide and beauti-
fully colored, performed wonderful Chinese fairy tales. In
Java, the shadowgraph play is still being performed, and the
play called "The Wayang," which runs in about twenty con-
secutive performances, is still the most popular kind of enter-
tainment.

Little is known of this strange screen theater of earlier days,
and it was through an acci-
dent that I stumbled on the
good fortune of being able to
revive for America an almost
extinct theatrical art. The
"accident" was the inherit-
ance of a large collection of
wonderful mechanical toys,
funny little performing dolls,
quaint coaches and little bon-
net shops and, most interest-
ing of all, a weird French
mechanical guillotine, which
automatically performed the
gruesome task of decapitat-
ing a pig, this pig being
labeled "Louis Seize," the
same unhappy monarch who
lost his head in the French
Revolution.

This toy of mine is one of
those which were sold in the
streets of Paris during the
reign of terror, and is perhaps

Sarg s marionettes as they look on the screen. This
is one of the scenes from "The Tooth Carpenter,
with a particularly agile marionette in the title role.

one of the most interesting historical relics of that nature in
existence. My interesting inheritance led me to continue
collecting toys of every description, and with this collection, I
naturally started a library on the same subject. In practically
every book there was some reference to marionettes, and one
writer lamented the "decay of the marionette theater" and
expressed the hope that some day an artist and an enthusiast
would revive this lost art.

This I proceeded to do. Not satisfied now with the revival
of the regular marionette, manipulated by strings, I decided

to plunge into the revival of
the shadowgraph marionette;
and it was playing with these
quaint figures which gave me
the idea to substitute the
little cardboard figures in-
stead of using the tedious
celluloid drawings usually
employed in the making of
animated cartoons for the
films. I am able, in conjunc-
tion with Herbert Dawley,
my associate in production,
to average 100 feet a day,
which ordinarily would repre-
sent 960 drawings in celluloid.
It is naturally a very much
cheaper process than any-
thing hitherto employed.

For the benefit of those

who wish to know "how it's

done": the making of the

shadowgraph begins with a

(Continued on page 114)

FROM DISHES

TO DRAMA!

Here is Helen Fer-
guson, who wasn't
too proud to be a
"hired girl" while
she was waiting
for a chance to be
an actress.

She left high-school
on examination day
to sit on the extra
bench at the Ess-
anay studio, and
couldn't graduate.
But look at her
now!

By
MARY W1NSHIP

THE infancy of the motion picture is its oldest tradition.
Without doubt this generation, which has watched and
aided its infantile period, partakes either of the over-
wrought partisanship of a young mother or the hard-
boiled injustice of the old maid next door.

Therefore, I almost wish that I might write the story of
Helen Ferguson for some future time.

For it lacks the hectic, thrilling kick which we are apt to
associate with movie queens. But it is the story above all
others that I should like to think of people reading fifty years
from now, and saying to each other, "So that is the way girls
did in the movies when they first began! So that is how our
first motion picture stars succeeded!"

Unlike most stories, it can and must be told simply, without
embellishment or exaggeration.

First, let me show you something of the girl herself as I
found her, in her new dressing room at the Lasky studio.

A brilliant criminal lawyer who saw her with me later that
day, and whom I consider a genius at character reading, said,
"A remarkable face. I'm not a picture fan and I don't know
just who she is, but that girl strikes me as quite the most intelli-
gent and forceful of the motion picture actresses I have seen."

Utterly clean and wholesome. Lovable, but humanly faulty,
sweet but variable in mood. A flash of hot temper. A willing-
ness to speak her own mind and opinion. Independent, proud,
uncompromising. Warm understanding and charity, marred
by some intolerance. A fighter with a sense of humor.

In looks, a veritable in-and-outer. Gorgeous eyes — they re-
mind me of Marie Doro's. Beautiful bronze-seal-gold hair,
naturally curly.

Six or seven years ago in Chicago, where her family had
moved from Decatur, lived a little girl of sixteen, named Helen
Ferguson. She lived with her mother and younger sister in an
average middle western home.

She herself cannot explain the persistent call of the stage. It

was not exactly stage fever, certainly not the desire for fame or
luxury. She had always dreamed of doing things — working,
achieving. Business did not appeal to her. The screen did —
vitally, at once.

Fate placed her in almost direct connection with one of the
cradles of the industry, the Essanay studio in Chicago. She
had to pass it every day on her way to high school. She de-
cided then that she wanted to be a motion picture actress.

She was in the senior class at high school, but every morning
on her way to school, and every evening on her way home, she
stopped at the Essanay studio to ask for work. On Saturdays
and holidays and in vacation, she would spend the whole day
there, waiting on a bench with the others, for "a chance."

One morning when she arrived, the casting director told her
she could work the next day. It nearly broke her heart, for the
next day final examinations were to be held for graduation.
She hesitated, breathless. Then she said she'd be at the studio
ready to work at eight o'clock.

She loved school, and she asked her teacher if she could take
her exams at twelve o'clock, for they had told her at the studio
it would be only a few hours' work. She hoped to get through.
But she didn't know the old-fashioned studio. Until four
o'clock she sat around, thrilled, nervous, heart-sick all at once,
and at four o'clock they took her, with a lot of other girls, up to
the high-school grounds to make school scenes. The principal
saw her, and she was not allowed to graduate.

For a year, she worked at Essanay. First extra, then bits,
then leads. During that time, they used to fire her regularly,
but she just wouldn't be fired.

Finally, it "took." One day she got her notice — emphatic
and actual.

That night, she took her little black pocket-book from the
bottom drawer of her bureau, where it lay hidden under the
piles of winter underwear, and counted her money. She had
one hundred and fifty dollars. (Continued on page 100)

Her beauty is spiritually satisfying and artistically amazing.

The GIRL on the COVER

A close-up of that illusive
young star, Lillian Gish

By DELIGHT EVANS

LILLIAN GISH has won contemporary immortality as the
heroine of David Wark Griffith's best pictures.
She is one of the symbols of the screen. Mary Pick-
ford is eternal youth. Chaplin, comedy incarnate and
incomparable. Fairbanks, athletic America. Hart, the West.
And Lillian Gish — the Madonna of the Shadows.

She is the fair, frail, persecuted child. The lovely, languorous
lily. She is frail and sweetly sad and imposed upon. She has a

moonlight beauty; a soft and serious calm. She is the virgin
queen of the screen.

Most of you believe that Lillian— like most lovely illusory
things— just grew. That she has always drifted through things
with the superb ease that she displays in her film close-ups. In
fact, it may be that many of you decline to give her screen
credit for her own fame, her unique and enviable position in the
silversheet firmament.

Photoplay Magazine

It's Griffith's direction. Or it's a natural placidity easily
photographed. Or it's a fragile prettiness. It's anything but
Lillian Gish.

She is never seen in a bathing-suit or a riding habit; so that
the conclusion is that she never swims and never rides. She is
only seen sitting serenely among flowers: a cool, collected little
blossom herself. Ethereal, aloof, and very beautiful — but
hardly human.

You are entirely wrong. She swims and rides more accu-
rately and joyously than many advertised athletes. But .Mr.
Griffith, like the late Charles Prohman, and the present David
Belasco, does not believe in much publicity for his players.
They must speak, or, in the case of Miss Gish of Griffith's,
act for themselves.

So that, if you don't read what I am going to say, you will go
right on believing Lillian Gish to be a very fair and beautiful
Topsy. Topsy, you remember, (or do you?), was the dark dimin-
utive principal in a certain American play, who just grew.
Lillian is fair; and her beauty is spiritually satisfying and
artistically amazing, but she is hardly a Topsy.

People watch Lillian in her exquisite costume as Henriette in
"The Two Orphans," performing, in her consummately quiet
way, for an insert; and later they say to her:

"Oh, Miss Gish — what fun you must have! Don't you just
love your work?"

Lillian will smile her inscrutable little smile. "Yes — I love
it."

And she does. But once she said to me:

"How wonderful it would be to forget your work for a little
while. Forget it — and follow spring around the world.

"Acting is the most exacting work in the world. It takes all
one's energy, absorbs ambition, and is intolerant of age. Lotta,
the famous actress, now a little old lady, looked me up in

Boston while I was 'personally appearing' for 'Way Down
East.' She said: 'My child, work hard now — and save your
money. Then, when your public forgets you — in those long
lean years when you are no longer young — you will have some-
thing to show for your work."

She is one of the few celebrities who began when the movies
did, who has very little today to show for her work. She has
never, to use the patois, "cashed in" on her fame. As you and
I rate good fortune, she is rich. But compared with the
princely incomes of other screen stars, she is merely prosperous!
She hasn't a mansion in Manhattan and another in Beverly
Hills. She lives, very quietly, with her mother and her sister
and her sister's husband in a house in New Rochelle, near New
York. It isn't a palace; it's just a comfortable home. She has
only one motor. Her own company, much to the surprise and
sorrow of all the friends of the star, failed before it finished one
picture. And yet — she has a dignity, a celebrity very much
like Maude Adams, that cannot be expressed in money.

She says herself, in her quaint, old-fashioned way, "Perhaps
it is all for the best. Too much money does queer things to
people. You can never tell what it is going to do to you."

She is the best friend of Mary Pickford. Joseph Herges-
heimer and Lillian Russell are two celebrities who, I strongly
suspect, count her their favorite screen star. A European am-
bassador says she is the most interesting personage he has ever
met, not excepting royalty and statesmen and singers. She is,
more than any other actress, the favorite honor guest of
women's clubs and colleges. She says she never knows what to
say; but she has spoken to a roomful of alumnae of an eastern
college for an hour — and left them wildly enthusiastic. And
yet she wishes she had had a college education!

She has been on the stage ever since she was six. And she has
worked ever since, with vacations of (Continued on page 118)

Lillian Gish as Henriette and Dorothy Gish as Louise in "The Two Orphans",
X). W. Griffith s new photoplay. The Gish girls do the finest work of their careers.

Frank Diem

GREAT THOUGHTS of the MONTH

Brief criticisms, comments, remarks and observations from
everywhere — a digest of thoughts about motion pictures.

HERE is no such thing, as some critics and film producers
maintain, as a picture that is too good for the public. —
Cecil deMille.

MY experience in the movies has been short, but it has
been long enough to teach me one thing — that "art for
art's sake" does not, can not
apply to the motion picture
industry. Motion pictures
come distinctly under the
head of commercial art. —
George A rliss.

SCREEX acting is so cold-
blooded. There's no in-
spiration. It's mathemati-
cal. The acting is measured
off in terms of footage. —
Nita Naldi.

THE general "dry-rot"
which has spread over
everything has not\spared
the cinema. There are too
many cinemas and not
enough real directors. —
Pierre Veber.

T LOVE daffodils. They
*• are the national flower of
Wales. Spring makes me
crazy. — Gareth Hughes.

TF censorship is put in the
* hands of the so-called re-
formers, producers may as
well give up right now the
notion that they can pro-
duce anything sincere, ar-
tistic, beautiful, or creative.
— Harold Stearns.

T LOVE colors. — Molly
*■ Malone.

"V/OU can't get me to chirp about art. I'm no artist. But I'm
*■ wild about my work. The picture we're wrapping up now
hasn't been christened yet, but it sure has a wallop. It packs
a twenty-four-carat punch. I have a part that starts out weak
but winds up with a cocktail kick. I've been lucky in leading
men, I think. Charlie Murray and Bill Hart and Norm

Kerry and Jim Kirkwood —
a good line-up, what? I'll
say so ! — Mary Thurman.

A group of celebra-
ted French motion
picture actors, cari-
catured in the
cinemas of Paris
by Charles Gir.
— Le Sourire.

&Cl64Jaj l<Ur,$xrrJUi

""THERE is a close affinity
*■ between sculpture and
painting and the motion
pictures. I believe the same
principles of form and com-
position that govern the
creation of a fine piece of
sculpture apply to the pro-
duction of an artistic photo-
play.— Rex Ingram.

T SHOULD like to do all

* the classics I

think my appeal is largely
to the more intellectual
element. — Lillian Gish.

MR. GRIFFITH
wonderful. —
Dempster.

is so
Carol

HPHERE is a fast growing
*■ section of professional
hypocrites in every' country
in the world, the members
of which fasten like mos-
quitoes upon the amuse-
ments and relaxations of the
public in order to provide
themselves with salaries. —
Cosmo Hamilton.

THE city is absolutely no
place for dogs. — Hope
Hampton.

[ ADMIT that motion pictures, in 1921, were not all that they
"■ should have been. The lesson taught by the large squash
pie that hit the comedian in the face was not so uplifting as
it might have been. — Ellis Parker Butler.

'"THE artist's mind seems to me to be better adapted for the
*■ telling of screen stories than the mind of the novelist. — ■

Maurice Tournenr.

"V/OU put an ounce each of dried mint and dried sage, three
*■ ounces of dried angelica, half a pound of juniper berries
and one pound of rosemary leaves in a jar, shaking them well
together. When you come home dragging one foot after the
other, too tired to think, if you just toss half a handful of that
mixture of herbs into a moderately hot foot-bath and keep your
feet in it for fifteen minutes — well, you'll be a brand new
person. — Anita Stewart.

THINK it is the secret of American picture making success
*■ that the speaking stage has recruited into the ranks of the
photo-drama so many of its longest trained people. — Wyndham
Standing.

"DEING happy is man's birthright
■£-' sunshine. — Betty Compson.

Get into the

jDHOTOPLAY making is more closely related to novel
*• making than to play building. — Benjamin B. Hampton.

FRENCH photoplays are much behind the times. They
are inferior in photographic effects to either the American
or Italian. French producers cannot keep up any high level
of excellence or enthusiasm, but "tale off" before they reach
the end. — Maurice Elvey.

THE progress of motion picture art is not to be found in
sensational films that have cost "millions," but in the
expression of facts, sentiments and ideas which need neither
subtleties nor elaborate explanations to make them under-
stood.— Maximilian Harden.

IT is my belief that ninety-five per cent of the pictures made
are distinctly bad and a large percentage of the remainder
only fair. — William deMille.

I AM very glad that I am not an acrobat or a tight-rope
walker. — Alice Joyce.

WOMEN are not living a natural life today. They are
hungry for conquest. It is up to every woman to seek
normality again. It is natural for women to have children.
Of course, if you don't have children, through no fault of yours,
there's simply no use mooning over it, but if you can — that
makes it different. — Catherine Calvert.

LIFE seems so colorless when there is nothing doing. —
Lucy Fox.

A stirring story about a young girl who fell in love with a murderer —

HORIZON

A Photoplay Magazine
Contest Fiction Story
from the pen of one of
America's most popular
and versatile writers —

OCTAVUS

ROY

COHEN

Illustrated by
Frederic Dorr Steele

THEY were singing as they shoved off
from the landing at Horizon Island
and headed for the big, tublike launch
which rolled sluggishly at anchor a
hundred yards offshore. Two of the men
turned for a farewell wave of thanks toward
the laughing-eyed girl who stood on the
shore gazing after them, her free golden
hair cascading about perfectly rounded
neck and throat.

She stood motionless as they clambered aboard the launch,
their hearty laughter wafted in snatches to her eager ears. And
then she heard the violent chug-chug of the motor and caught a
merrily chorused "Good bye!" and then more of song and
laughter as the boat turned northward and ploughed through
the placid swell in the general direction of Charleston.

She watched the boat until it became a dancing speck upon
the waters. Slowly she turned and made her way through the
narrow strip of jungle separating river and ocean. Then she
seated herself on the sand and cupped dimpled chin in pink
palms.

To the right and left of her stretched the broad, hard beach
of Horizon Island. Behind her rose the squat dense jungle of
palm and palmetto, myrtle and scrub oak, framing the splen-
didly new Horizon Island Lighthouse. It was a lonely spot —
the mainland to the rear of the island, a mere greenish gray
streak across the face of the tumbling waters. And before her
eyes was the magnificent expanse of the Atlantic: dull green
slashed by the deep blue of the Gulf Stream flowing steadily
northward along the South Carolina coast.

She sat alone, staring after the fishing party, and there played
about her lips a little smile of ineffable happiness, a smile which
begot tiny dimples at the corners. And there she sat while the
sun of late afternoon lost its brilliance and sank slowly behind
the mainland, bathing Horizon Island in a radiance of exquisite
gold and purple. It caught, too, in her hair and there took unto
itself a new warm glow as of molten metal.

There was no sound save the plangent murmuring of the
surf and the pleasant screaming of sea gulls as they dipped and
rose above the seething surface of the ground swell. That and
the gentle, almost soundless, rustling of the palm forest . . .

She sat alone, staring after the fishing party,

and there played about her lips a little smile

of ineffable happiness, a smile which begot

tiny dimples at the corners.

and the closing of a door in the lighthouse as Peter Merriam
emerged.

Peter Merriam stood quietly before the gaunt, white building
— and as his eye caught the figure of his daughter, the stern face
became soft and gentle. He started toward her, treading softly,
as though fearful of destroying a magic spell. And then he
stood behind her; a straight, massive figure of a man with flow-
ing iron-gray hair, broad shoulders and long, powerful arms
which hung loosely at his sides.

For perhaps ten minutes the silence held; both father and
daughter hypnotized by the witchery of sunset. This was their
evening ritual on clear days, the charm of it always new —
always fresh — despite his thirty years as keeper of the Horizon
Island Light, and her brief lifetime in the jewel-like little world.

The gold faded into a deep rich purple, and he seated himself
beside her on the sand, slipping his arm about her slender
waist. She cuddled against him and sighed. It was then that
he spoke.

"Are you happy. Little Girl?"

Her answer was low-toned, almost inaudible. "Who could
help it?"

He brushed her crown of hair with his lips. Then he, too,
sighed, for the entire life of this big man had not been spent on
Horizon Island, and his fine eyes became momentarily clouded
with memory of the pain and suffering he had once known be-
fore casting loose from the world that was now a mere black
line miles away from their paradise.

It was to Horizon Island he had brought his bride, and upon

Horizon Island, that Doris had been born the night her mother
died. The infant knew nothing of the solitary, grief-racked
figure which conducted her funeral the following day. She only
knew that the grave in which her mother lay was a thing of per-
fect beauty, a spot of reverently tended marvel flowers ... a
thing about which there' was no sadness; only a mystic spell
which she could not quite understand.

The nineteen years which had passed since that day of crown-
ing misery in Peter Merriam's life had been years of swift-flow-
ing happiness for the girl who was now budding into supreme
womanhood. In all those years she had known
no pain, no suffering, no trouble. A half dozen
times she had gone with her father into the
city of Charleston, but these voyages into the
staid, stolid old town had been bright spots of
happy adventure in her tranquil, sheltered life,
expeditions preceded by eager anticipation,
with later the exquisite fullness of realization.
To her, Charleston was a mammoth place
where countless people lived and which there-
fore was a metropolis of happiness. These
little voyages of hers into urban life — such as
it was — were scintillant spots in a monotone of
placidity. She plunged into each with the zest
of a city resident planning a picnic — and she
was as glad to return.

SHE was not insufferable in her happiness,
nor more than human. She did not go about
prattling platitudes of happiness. She was
happy because in all her life there had been no
experience of a somber emotion. The pic-
nickers who came fortnightly into her life came
with smiles on their faces and laughter in their
eyes: they were happy because they were pic-
nicking— reveling in enjoyment. They an-
chored in the inlet at the northern end of the
island, rowed ashore and bathed from the
hard, white beach. And they played games
and ran races and ate lunch in a natural little
picnic grove of scrub oak and myrtle and cab-
bage palm. And always there was song and
laughter and happiness . . . and in all her
life Doris Merriam had known naught else.

Occasionally she glimpsed in the deep set
eyes of her stalwart father an unfathomable
light, a sudden flashing as of bitter reminis-
cence. But she did not understand and did
not question. For, had he answered her
questionings — which he would not have done
— she could not have understood.

For nearly thirty years now he had been
keeper of the Horizon Island Light which sig-
nalled ships away from the treacherous shift-
ing sandbars of the Carolina coast. At first it
had been a one-man station with a weak
flickering light. But two years since the
government had installed a modern stone
lighthouse with steel stairway and steel floor-
ing, and a snug little brick home had been
built for Peter Merriam and his daughter, and she had qualified
as his assistant and was now a government employee, just as
was her father.

It was a fine, modern lighthouse that they manned together;
a staunch little structure with its powerful carbon light flashing
far out to sea; current furnished by a tiny powerhouse with a
fifteen horsepower gasolene motor, 220-volt generator and a
transformer which stepped up the current to a magnificent
thing of eighteen hundred volts.

It was the great event of their lives, this building of a two-
man light, and Doris's qualification as her father's assistant,
and he drilled into her plastic mind the single immutable tenet
of the Service — The light must burn.

Together they studied the plant until either knew all that
there was to know about it from motor to arc, and never were
they happier than in piloting interested visitors up the steel
stairway to the glass-enclosed turret from which the light flared
forth its message of safety and good cheer to the casuals of thesea.

So, for nineteen years she had lived ; a song ever on her lips,
laughter in her heart. And her father stubbornly refused to
face the future — and her womanhood refused to face it — until
decision was brought to him.

Photoplay Magazine

It was not that he was neglectful, but rather that he allowed
himself to become blind to the inevitable. He was vaguely
troubled as he visioned her magnificent maturity — troubled
and inordinately proud. But when his forehead was most
deeply creased by lines of worry — there came her carefree,
innocent laughter to rob him of apprehension.

And so night came upon them — came slowly, caressingly
They rose and walked to their little home, his arm still about
her waist. And before starting the little gasolene motor in
the powerhouse he questioned her once again —

And so. Bill Walters, condemned murderer, donned the storm-coat of the
to the door and Peter Merriam saw her creep into Bill s arms

"Is my little girl happy.''"

"Very happy, Daddy ..."

But there was a slight rising inflection to the answer; almost
a query of self. And within her breast an indesignate yearn-
ing. . .

IT was done very suddenly and efficiently and later, when
the official probe was made, the officer in charge of the
prisoner was severely reprimanded but not otherwise punished.

According to the passengers, the trip toward Columbia
was insufferably hot and the keeping of handcuffs upon the
condemned murderer would have been inhuman. Besides,
the deputy in charge of Bill Walters — alias Red Watson —
was a large man physically and his captive was almost 'boyish
of stature. And the deputy was armed.

It came quite unexpectedly while the train was crawling
laboriously northward along the edge of Hell Hole swamp.
The unfortunate passengers of the noisome day coach lay back
panting in the musty plush seats, oblivious to droning insects
and a veritable hail of cinders which swirled stingingly in
through the open windows.

Outside was the dull gray landscape of stagnant water,

Photoplay Magazine

drooping oaks, rigid pines and an endless vista of crepe-like
gray moss. Beyond the fringe of trees lay the unhealthy
swamp region of southeastern South Carolina; a waste area
criss-crossed by roads which are not roads and inhabited by
shiftless, dilapidated negroes and poor white trash ravaged
by malaria.

The deputy had removed coat and collar and the murderer
silently extended his hands to show where the handcuffs had
chafed the skin raw. It was then that the deputy removed
the handcuffs, knowing that Bill Walters could not escape.

murders. The one committed by him had been unspeakable.
Bill Walters moved swiftly once within the shelter of the
swamp. He struck straight eastward, exulting over the
miracle which had protected him from the vicious bullets of
the deputy. Nor did he allow himself to become panicky.
His life was already forfeit: therefore he planned coolly and
collectedly to cheat the State of its due.

The swamp was not an unknown region to him. He had
hunted through this vast wasteland many times, and he knew
just what course afforded him the best chance of making
good his escape. The fall from the train had
bruised him considerably, but bruises meant
little then — and he held to his course, avoid-
ing houses until night settled dankly over the
swamp. It was then that he came upon a
corduroy roadbed and allowed himself to
follow it, ears alert, himself untroubled by fear.
Most of that night he travelled, snatching
a few hours sleep in the shelter of a large oak
tree which grew upon a knoll rising tomblike
from the surrounding wetness. And then in
the morning he continued his careful, tortuous
jffurney eastward. And hunger came upon
him and gnawed — and that night he went
into a little country store, after first making
himself presentable. There he asked the
wizened old storekeeper to show him a shotgun
and some shells. And when two shells were
in the barrels he demanded food from the
storekeeper — and when he left the store he
had food — plenty of it — and another human
life had been added to the accounting which
he owed to God and the State.

lighthouse keeper and started upon his mission. The girl accompanied
Mid kiss him upon the mouth. Then . . . "Goodbye, Bill!

The thing was impossible. But it happened!

There was a leap through the open window into the fast-
gathering dusk, an oath from the deputy, a spitting of revolver
shots toward the figure which pitched to the roadbed of
cinders, fell, somersaulted, then darted swiftly through the
muck and mire to disappear in the swamp.

The passengers were aroused from their lethargy. The
conductor pulled the bell cord and stopped the train. The
deputy, cursing loudly, leaped boldly in futile pursuit. Sickly,
hot children screamed with terror at sound of the shooting
and clung stickily to their parents. Men speculated pro-
fanely upon the outcome of the chase and prophesied that the
law would either refasten its clutches upon the fugitive or
else that the murderer would succumb to the diseases hanging
ever in the miasma which hovers over Hell Hole swamp.

And then the train moved on toward Columbia whither
Bill Walters had been bound. There, according to the sen-
tence of the court, he was shortly to have been electrocuted
for a murder unusually revolting. There was no question
of his guilt; white man though he was, the jury had brought
in a verdict of guilty in less than twenty minutes — and white
men are not sentenced to death in South Carolina for ordinary

SO he made his way toward the coast,
veering southward as he travelled, circling
the city of Charleston. With the money
secured from the store of his last victim he
purchased food along the route. Nor did
specters of his crimes come to haunt him
during that horrible, treacherous journey.
He was a man utterly devoid of human
emotion. There was no fear within him.
He was vicious as a water moccasin, and as
fearless and venomous. With it all he had
the face of an innocent youth: guileless: rather
handsome. Only in his eyes there was a hard-
ness, a mercilessness, which was less than
human. He had no conscience.

On the shore of the Ashley River, a few miles
above Charleston, he stole a fishing boat and
in it sailed southward into the maze of islands
dotting the coast. And it was in that boat
that he came eventually to Horizon Island
and went straight to Peter Merriam, keeper
of the light.

"My name is Rogers," he lied, meeting

Merriam's eyes squarely and forcing the old

man to like him. "The doctor told me I was

on the verge of a nervous breakdown and that

I need a few weeks of fishing and complete rest. May I stay

here with you?"

Peter Merriam choked down as unworthy a faint premoni-
tion of disaster. The man who called himself Rogers was a
likeable lad; a bit unkempt after a day and a half in his stolen
fishing boat, but nevertheless a clean-looking boy. Peter
Merriam called himself an old fool as he gave the boy his
hand and invited him to make his home at the lighthouse.

Bill Walters demurred. He had no intention, he protested,
of intruding to that extent. He merely wanted permission
to loaf about the beach, to seek the shelter of the home adjoin-
ing the lighthouse in inclement weather, and to eat his meals
there.

But the lonely soul of Peter Merriam yearned for company —
although he himself did not know it — and, too, he was natu-
rally hospitable, so he forced the young man to accept the shel-
ter of his home.

And Peter Merriam introduced the murderer to his daughter.

Peter Merriam did not, at first, recognize the menace of

such an association of youth. Somehow, the old man had

never sensed the fact that Doris was grown to womanhood and

that nature had brought to her a woman's emotions. And so,

Photoplay Magazine

And so there came to Dons the one sorrow of her life — the superb
grief which comes to women whose men are killed in battle.

for more than a week he watched them playing together about
the beach, laughing, happy, carefree — she never having known
trouble and suffering, he utterly unaffected by it.

He came to like the young man, and did not notice that his
visitor seldom spoke of himself. He knew vaguely that the man
who called himself Rogers was a business man from the North
. . . and he refused to question impertinently. There were
times, however, when the visitor fancied that he was unob-
served that there flamed in his eyes a light which troubled the
father of the girl who had grown to rich womanhood. And as
the days passed it grew more and more difficult for him to
throw aside the sensation of menace.

As for Doris Merriam, with the advent of the man called
Rogers and the ripening of their friendship, there came to her
a new rounding out of character. Here, for the first time in
her life, she was daily in the society of some person other than
her father. The persons who visited Horizon Island on fishing
trips were but casuals of the day. Here was something dif-
ferent . . . and Doris was slowly beginning to understand
that, perfect as her life on the island had always been, it lacked
something — something stronger even than contentment.

Hers was no process of sophistication. She did not under-
stand the exaltation which alternately brought to her happiness
of a quality she had never before known and a pensiveness
deliciously doubtful. She did not understand that she was
undergoing the phenomenon of love and that the great alchemy
of the universe was at work upon her. She only knew that here
was something different, something ineffably sweeter than any-
thing'she had ever before experienced in a life of free, sheltered
contentment.

And gradually the murderer came to realize that this beau-
tiful girl had fallen in love with him. That was the signal for

his awakening interest in her.
Before, she merely had amused
him, but he was a virile male
animal and no man can remain
impervious to a woman's ado-
ration. And so he altered his
attitude toward her, recking not
of the effect upon her life, throw-
ing aside all thought of the cloud
over his own. He became the
deferential cavalier, paid adept
court to Doris. He was quick of
tongue with pretty compliments,
and Peter Merriam, watching
with deep-set, hawklike eyes,
saw — and tried not to under-
stand.

He attempted to blind himself
to the fact that his daughter was
succumbing to the inexorable
law of nature and of sex. And
so he was brought up with a
start the day he rounded a sand
dune and saw Doris in the arms
of the man who called himself
Rogers, her lips on his in the
first love kiss of her life.

PETER M erriam tu rned slowly
away. Far down the beach he
walked, seeing nothing, hearing
nothing. Faced by facts, he was
too much of a man to give 'way
to bald theories. He faced the
conditions squarely, despite real-
ization that it meant years of un-
u tterable loneliness for him bereft
of his daughter's society. . . .

That night he called Doris to
him, and together they walked
upon the beach. And then she
told him frankly of the glory
which had come into her life, and
he stroked her shoulder and
lightly kissed her golden hair.
He spoke without looking at her,
a mist of tears dimming the ra-
diance of the silver moonpath
which danced over the waters.
"Of course it had to come,
dear. I'm very glad — for your sake."

She gave way to no mock emotion. " I'm happier than ever
before in my life, Daddy. Not happier — but happy in a dif-
ferent sort of way. It's something new — "

"Of course, Doris. Of course it would be that way." He
paused — then, awkwardly: "You want very much to marry
him?"

He could feel her cheek grow hot against his. "Yes, Daddy
■ — I want that more than anything in the world."

That was all. No senseless talk of the inevitability of sepa-
ration, no absurd wishing for an island Utopia which both knew
could never be. Here was the mating call, and father and
daughter knew that it could not be denied.

Back in the cozy little home adjoining the lighthouse, Bill
Walters nervously paced the living room. He had talked
blithely of marriage. He was afraid now that Peter Merriam
would object — would force him to leave Horizon Island, and
the little jewel-spot afforded him perfect sanctuary. That
would be unpleasant; particularly so as he knew that he could
not leave. Of course if the old man proved tractable and gave
his consent to their engagement, he'd go through with it — even
a marriage if necessary — and then, when opportunity for flight
offered, he'd leave. The fact that he would wreck the life of
Doris Merriam did not occur to him, nor would it have bothered
had he thought of it. He thought only of himself . . . Doris
was but a passing incident in his life — here today and gone to-
morrow. But — and his fists clenched and the flare of the water
moccasin came into his narrowed eyes — Peter Merriam had
better not try to force his departure. He had no intention of
leaving . . .

He was smiling with simulated affection when father and
daughter returned. And he clasped {Continued on page 115)

Their

WE were ungentle-
manly enough not to
want any ladies on this
page. It is seldom, heaven
knows, that the husbands
have their innings, and we
had hoped that — just on
this one little page — they
might have everything
their own way. But
James Regan, Jr.,
wouldn t have his picture
taken unless Mrs. Regan
could be in it too. Since
she's Alice Joyce and one
of our favorite stars, we
don't mind.

Charles Eyton is better known
as the very efficient and popu-
lar general manager of Para-
mount's west-coast studios
than as the husband of Kathlyn
Williams.

Rudolph — better known as
Rudie Cameron, didn t have
any picture of himself with-
out Anita Stewart in it; but
since Anita s features are
so much more famous, we
cruelly cut her out. He is
Anita's erstwhile leading
man, present business man-
ager and — husband.

At the right: Joseph M.
Schenck, whose business it
is to produce the Norma
Talmadge pictures. Mr.
Schenck s interest is also
personal. He's Norma's hus-
band, you know.

NEW FACES FOR OLD

By SAMUEL GOLDWYN

President of the Goldwyn Pictures Corporation

Samuel Goldwyn

HAVING been a con-
stant enthusiast for
motion pictures
since the first day
when printed celluloid cast
its shadow on the screen I
am in a position to state
that what are needed most
today in the photoplay are
New Faces.

There are great actors
and actresses in the pic-
tures. But because of the
number of pictures in which
they appear and because of
the general tendency of
casting directors to choose
characters whose features
are just "regular," it has
become apparent that a new
generation of motion picture
artists is desired.
Man survives only because of his restlessness, his boredom
with the old, his desire for far away things which have never
before been achieved. The motion picture is one of the signifi-
cant results of his weariness with a world which had no motion
pictures.

The Chinese, who claim to have invented everything long
before the Western World began to experiment with the elemen-
tals, have no record of motion
pictures. The scientific laws
through which they were con-
ceived were known, it is true,
as early as 65 A. D., but all in
all, the motion picture can
claim to be an authentically
original expression of this age.
It is not old; it is new. It is
not mummified, it is alive.
And the great question before
those men to whom destiny
has tendered the responsibility
of this contemporary of radium
and Relativity is how to keep
it alive.

This responsibility presents
problems which are at once
immediate and a hundred
years away. The latter prob-
lem is largely technical, and I
shall not go into it. A hun-
dred laboratories are working
constantly to perfect the me-
chanical devices which make
possible the motion picture;
and there are no doubt num-
berless individuals, working in
obscurity, who will realize,
here and there, new principles
and machines which will bring
the medium of the screen to
new levels.

Nothing can live perma-
nently which has nothing per-
manent to live for. People
talk of progress in Life as if it
were a hope, instead of a

PHOTOPLAY MAGA-
ZINE realizes the im-
portance of the issue Mr.
Goldwyn crystallizes in this
article, and considers it a priv-
ilege to co-operate with him in
his sincere effort to bring new
faces to the screen just as he
has brought eminent authors.

Rupert Hughes has written
a remarkable article on a sim-
ilar theme for the next issue
of Photoplay, to be followed
with one by Mary Roberts
Rinehart.

At the conclusion of this
series of three articles there
will be presented a practical
method of finding new faces
in which the readers of this
magazine will be asked to
assist.

necessity. I do not pretend to think that everything was done
which might have been done for the progress of the motion pic-
ture in the earliest days. But the thing was new and bewilder-
ing to everyone. It had, however, capacities within itself
which overran the limitations of producers, theater-owners, and
audiences of the time. For some years there was a sort of
truce while the art-industry stopped and caught its breath and
while various personalities engaged the attention of the public
to the exclusion of more fundamental values of story and plot.
Stars began to shine luminously in that shadow world — and
then to pale, with a few splendid exceptions — Charlie Chaplin,
and Mary Pickford, for example; and the eminent director-
producer, David Wark Griffith. There were, of course, others,
also.

A change was inevitable, and it came when the public showed
a desire for something different. I pride myself to a certain
extent that I was one of the first to realize this change and
attempt to direct its course — when, with Rex Beach, I founded
the Eminent Authors, with a premise that the author was to
co-operate in the screening of his themes and not to contemp-
tuously "sell it to the movies."

This idea has now largely been accepted and writers of
recognized talent, and even genius, brought to the understanding
that motion pictures have a technique of their own and require
original stories and direct treatment. Rupert Hughes, for in-
stance, writes a tale for the screen; writes his own continuity,
participates on the lot in its production; takes a hand in the
cutting, and writes his own titles. There are others — Gouver-
neur Morris, Mary Roberts Rinehart.

We have the new screen
Author. But have we any
equivalent on the screen?
Have we "the new screen ac-
tor— and actress? " To a large
extent, we have not — and that
is what the screen needs most
at the present moment — New
Faces!

There has been a tendency
to develop types — the hero,
the heroine, the villain, the
ingenue, the juvenile — and
then to limit players to a cer-
tain style of expression. Broad
classifications are, of course,
necessary, but they should be
those of life, not the artificial
restrictions of the studio.

Just as many producers have
tended to follow a set groove
in the development of their
stories, so they have come to
turn actors out of the same
mould, all nicely labeled and
ready to do a certain bit of
work precisely as it has been
done one hundred times before.
If a player happens to make a
hit in a mother role, or as an
Italian fruit peddler, or a
smirking Chinaman, producers
immediately look around for
more parts of a similar nature
for him to develop, instead of
giving him an opportunity in
other parts.

We all agree that the hope

Photoplay Magazine

of the screen is to draw closer to a true
portrayal of life. Most of our stories cover
an extensive period of time, not one or
two episodes as is frequently the case
with stage plays. The intention is to give
a comprehensive view of what happens to
the characters during months or years.

Now men and women are quite likely
to manifest a number of varying traits
and emotions during any given day, let
alone any month or year. The villain is
not always a villain, the heroine is not al-
ways gazing at the moon, the hero some-
times forgets to look aggressively mascu-
line, and even the ingenue may realize
that life is not all made up of new frocks
and smiles.

The new artists of the screen, then,
must be actors and actresses who are not
definitely typed according to studio
standards, but whose emotional reper-
toire is sufficiently versatile to meet the
contrasting phases of character encoun-
tered in one and the same person.

Taking recent records as a basis, I
should judge that there are approximately
one thousand persons in this country who
may be called motion picture players.
But a small percentage of this number are
drawn upon regularly to fill the important
roles in our productions. Any regular
picture-goer becomes as accustomed to
certain faces on the screen as in the old
stock company days when each picture
was made by the same group of players.

Theodore Roberts and his inevitable
cigar, Stuart Holmes in the role of a suave
villain, or Jack Holt; these and many
others are old friends of the habitual pic-
ture patron. And they are well liked. I
do not want to discount their well de-
served popularity; but would they be any
less popular if permitted to give a fuller
display of their talents?

The element of surprise is important in
characterization as it is in story develop-
ment, and when an audience becomes too
familiar with the mannerisms of a player
through constant repetition, it is time to
give the player a chance to reveal new
phases of his art.

There is a good deal of silly talk about
"Pleasing the Public." On the one hand
we have the critic who forgets that the
motion picture is preeminently a popular

entertainment and on the other hand we have the idiot who
forgets that the attempt to supply that entertainment by
following formulas will disgust the public and justify the
critic. The Public wants happy endings; very well, then, let
us have happy endings, the idiot reasons, while the critic howls.
But the Public will not want happy endings if every picture
ends happily; suspense would be killed, and suspense is as much
the lifeblood of a photoplay as of a play. The majority of pic-
tures should have happy endings, under existing conditions;
but no producer of sense would turn down a valuable story
because its value lay in an unhappy ending.

I say this sincerely; because I believe that the demands of
audiences and the efforts of art are not always in conflict, —
indeed Art at its highest will find a response from the greatest
numbers. It is that belief which makes me think that the
Public is usually justified in its attitude towards old stuff. It
is that which makes me believe that at the present moment
the Public, as well as the future of the screen, needs New Faces.

In attending stage plays you are constantly met with thes-
pians whose performances interest you and whose names are
practically unknown. You are met with actors and actresses
whom you know and delight in, but they are not usually sur-
rounded by others whose manners, voices, and tricks are all
known to you. You do not see these same people night after
night, so that even plots and stories which are different become
much the same, because they constantly receive the same inter-
pretation. But you are likely to see these very things at the

THE SIMP INGENUE

ONE of tke types of stars who have worn out their
welcome on the screen. She and some of Her
sisters can add a lot of tone to the silversheet by
their absence, says Mr. Goldwyn in his article
"New Faces lor Old.

Drawn by
Ralpli Barton

r'.

motion picture theater around the corner. You are likely to
become a little weary of them. Perhaps you have! But do
not believe that this situation is going to last. It isn't. How-
ever blindly and perfunctorily, a solution is always waiting to
be found.

I believe that solution will be found in new faces — in people
who have never before stood the fierce test of the all-recording
camera. We have to develop a great many more new and
capable actors for the films — for the lack of variety in casts
today is simply because certain individuals have proven them-
selves so capable in certain roles that the natural procedure is to
hire them to repeat their performance for role after role.
Changing this situation will result in more than one way— it
will give actors a far greater range of expression.

When I have a belief, I go to it, and I am catholic in my use
of instruments. I have, as a consequence, adopted the
methods of organized baseball in my drive for New Faces. I
have hired an experienced casting director to do nothing but
travel the country looking for human material for Goldwyn
pictures. My scout happens to be a woman, and she will
probably see more performances during the coming year by
more stock companies throughout the United States than any
other man, woman or child.

It is likely that she will find most of her finds in those stock
companies. But she will not by any means restrict her efforts
in that direction. Every person who looks as if he or she may
have a "camera face" — and this {Continued on page 97)

The

Story

Strongheart

If you ever had a dog —
if you ever loved a dog —
you must read this story

THIS is the story of a dog named Strongheart.
He was called Etzel, first. He was a German
dog. He served nobly in the German Red
Cross. But now — his master is an American
and he is learning to understand English; and his
new name is Strongheart.

And now he takes his place among the premier
dogs of the screen: Sennett's Teddy, and Universal's
Brownie. But Etzel is a
dramatic dog; an emotional
actor. While the other
screen canines appear only
in comedy, Strongheart is
making a drama. And so
his position is entirely
unique.

After the war,
Etzel, who was
three years old,
was sent to
America to be

Strongheart is
not " camera-
shy. " At the
left, with Larry
Trimble, who
" discovered
the dog actor.

sold. Larry Trimble, the motion picture director, loves dogs;
and he happened to see Etzel, and recognized in him a potential
dog star. He persuaded Mrs. Jane Murfin, who writes the
stories for his pictures, to buy the dog. So Etzel, renamed
Strongheart, went to live with Mrs. Murfin in her luxurious
apartment; and he apparently liked the place and his mistress.
He enjoyed too the many times when Larry Trimble came and
took him for long walks. Larry told him he was going to act
in motion pictures and began to train him for it.

Visitors were always introduced to Etzel. He did not care
for petting. One day when Etzel came in there was a lady
lying on the couch. The dog, true to his Red Cross training,
rushed up to see what he could do for her. He tried to get
Mr. Trimble and Mrs. Murfin to take her up,, until they ex-
plained that everything was all right; then he was satisfied.
But he did not take his eyes away from her as long as she
stayed there.

Another day Mr. Trimble playfully pushed Mrs. Murfin
away by the shoulders. True to the instincts of a gentleman,
Etzel took the man's coat in his teeth and pulled him off.

And as time went on the dog began to understand English
and all that was said to him. They never tried to teach him
tricks. They talked to him always in a low tone of voice until
at last they had won the dog's complete confidence.

" Etzel" — Mr. Trimble still calls him by that name, though he
has been renamed "Strongheart" — "you know you can trust
me. I will never ask you to do anything that isn't all right. I
promise you that. Whatever I ask you to do, I will protect you.
In return you must promise complete {Continued on page 97)

Alfred Cheney Johnston

'"THE Editor of PHOTOPLAY was reading his mail. He came across a letterwhich

-*■ said: "I don't care how many pictures you print, you can never have enough of

Mary Pickford." Of the thousand pictures she has had, this is Mary's favorite.

JUST MRS. CHARLES BRYANT HERE

HTHAT'S the way it is in the
■*■ telephone book. It's when
she's in the studio and on the
screen that she is Madame Alia
Nazimova. These are the first
pictures of the celebrated Russian
ever made in her home, as M adame
-^-or Mrs. Bryant— -doesn't be-
lieve in personal publicity. Any-
way, when she isn't writing,
directing; cutting, titling and act-
ing in her own pictures, this is
where she lives with. Mr. Bryant
and Daisy and Mike. You see
the latter two above — both blue-
ribboned wire-haired terriers.

Rice Photos

VyHEN you see a
" star photographed
in her library, it doesn't
mean much to you,
does it? But Nazi-
mova— we simply can-
not keep calling her
Mrs. Bryant — has an
exceptionally fine col-
lection of books: first
editions and rare bind-
ings and all that. The
remarkable thing about
these books is that they
are very often read.
Below, the kind of a
car you'd expect of her.
The initials on the door
are C. B. Nazimova
will probably be seen
on the stage agai n soon.

"CO

TACK HOLT is one screen star who really has a private life. He forgets he is an
** actor when he closes his dressing-room door for the day. Besides Mr. and Mrs.
Holt, there are three little Holts. The middle-sized one you see here: Jack Junior.

Victor Georg

'"PHERE is never a difference of opinion about Richard Barthelmess — except in

■*■ the pronunciation of his last name. Everybody is glad that he has his own

company; and everybody is waiting for the first picture in which he is really a star.

PETROVA'S
PAGE

Bull fights, prize fights and mo.

tion pictures — a discussion by

America's most versatile actress,

now on Photoplay's staff.

JEAXETTE CHERIE:
Your letter yesterday filled me with remorse. I
have nothing to say in extenuation. You are per-
fectly right when you say that I am an execrable
correspondent.

I am.

It is also perfectly true that 1 promised to answer
your letter of last March. I did promise. But
Jeanette cherie, do me the justice to remember that I didn't
bind myself as to the date when that feat should be accom-
plished.

You know of course that I have only just returned from
France and Spain; particularly Spain. I was there once before,
long ago, when I was still in the leggy stage. But! Oh! How
different the impression of it is to me now, in comparison w'th
what it was then.

However, I'm not going to talk of Spain just at this minute.
There are other things first.

For instance — I must explain why my long-belated missive
comes to you in such bulky form and with a six-cent stamp
instead of in one of my own neat little envelopes ornamented
with one of the excruciatingly ugly pink ones issued by the
government at two. The reason is this, Jeanette — and I bow
my head in shame.

You are not the only person to whom I owe a letter and last
night as I viewed a pile of correspondence a brilliant idea oc-
curred to me.

Yesterday afternoon I had quite a conversation with Mr.
Quirk. (By the way it seems that everybody calls him "Jim-
my" but me.) We shook hands on a promise that I would
write one thousand words per month for Photoplay Mag-
azine and that he (Mr. Quirk) would pay me a certain number
of shining coin of the realm for so doing.

Th • gist of the conversation, I would not have you think, was
solely of such practical things as numbers of words, and num-
bers of coins. Oh, no! We talked of everything else in the
world as well; from the proverbial shoes to the proverbial kings,
in fact. We divided at least fifteen minutes between Andre-
yev's "Sabine" ladies and pig's knuckles. Mr. Ray Long,
editor of Cosmopolitan, came in while we were deep in argu-
ment. I decided in favor of the Sabines and pig's knuckles.
Mr. Quirk decided against both. Mr. Long said he would re-
serve decision. As far as the pig's knuckles go I have promised
to cook some for him myself, according to my own formula.
He will be converted.

However, the real basis of the conversation consisted chiefly
in discussing what the thousand words per month should be
about. You will agree that the field is vast. Mr. Quirk would
have dismissed the matter altogether with an airy wave of the
hand. "Write whatever you like, " he told me, genially. ' 'Only
don't get us into court for libel."

Now Jeanette cherie, imagine such an intimation to an ex-
reporter of a London daily. It seems to me, after having pe-

rused the columns of the Tribune and the American for the past
few years, that in America there is so such thing as libel;
whereas in England one must be careful not to even mention
that Mrs. Jones' hair is pink this year, while in the autumn it
was blue, even if the statement be true.

However, I assured my editor that I would be careful, very,
very careful, and that I would not comment on Mrs. Jones at ail,
if, in the interest of truth, I found I could not mention her,
without her hair. But limiting one only in so far as libel is
concerned is no limit at all.

Imagine "writing what you like as long as you don't get into
court!"

It's easy enough to write reams on any given subject, say
clams or even mussels; but when one has no limit, the task
assumes gigantic proportions. It's enough to make the per-
spiration take every vestige of marcel out of one's hair.

Well, we talked and talked until six-thirty. Then I remem-
bered I had to go home, and I was still at sea as to what to do
with my thousand words.

The last night after dinner I "took my pen in hand" to
answer one of your numerous notes, the one dated March 6th
in particular.

It was then that the brilliant idea came to me:

Why not answer your letter in Photoplay Magazine and
therein kill three birds with one stone, as it were!

First your letterwould really be answered, telling you of "all
my thoughts and doings" (well, not quite all) as you have asked
so many times and again. Second, by answering you in this
fashion, I should be answering similar requests from the other
of my so few intimates at the same time, and last, I should be
complying with Mr. Quirk's suggestion to "Write what I like."
Now you understand why your letter comes to you encased in
interesting pages covered with the thoughts of other people.

Now to begin. You want me to tell you all about Spain.
Jeanette cherie, I was there only eight weeks, so I am obliged to
tell you that I don't know a great deal about it. I've always
envied those people that could spend a week or two in a
strange land, and then write (with authority) books on the sub-
ject. I can only tell you of things that I actually saw and im-
pressions that I really felt. Of the last, you will be surprised to
know that greater than the impression of the color and the
odor of Spain upon my consciousness, (Continued on page 00 )

THE WINNER OF THE PHOTO-

Photographic facsimile of
the Gold Medal which
readers of PHOTOPLAY
awarded, by popular vote,
to the producer of
"Humoresque. This
medal was executed by
Tiffany and Co., of New
York.

THE public lias made its decision.
Photoplay's thousands have voted. And the Medal
of Honor for the greatest picture of the year 1920 will be
presented to the Producer of
"Humoresque."

You remember when the Gold Medal Contest was announced,
we gave the qualifications for a great picture. They were:
theme, story, direction, acting, continuity, setting, and photog-
raphy. Combined they make a masterpiece of the screen.

You, the two million readers
of this Magazine, constitute the
jury for the awarding of film-
dom's Croix de Guerre. You are
the judges. The photoplay is
by, of, and for the people. It
was up to you.

We think you have made a
wise selection in " Humoresque."
This picture is truly great. It
is an artistic achievement and a
popular triumph. Its theme, the
universality of motherhood. Its
direction, worthy of the beau-
tiful theme. Its acting, excep-
tional. Its settings, extraor-
dinary. Its continuity, smooth
and faithful. Its photography,
clear and fine.

To William Randolph Hearst
of "Cosmopolitan Productions,"
the producer of "Humoresque,"
is awarded the first Medal of
Honor: the first presentation of
a lasting tribute of significance
and artistic value. The Medal
goes to the producer because no
picture can be greater than its
producer. It takes the pro-
ducer's faith, foresightedness,
money and appreciation to make
a great picture. Mr. Hearst be-
lieved in Fannie Hurst's great
short story, which appeared in
Cosmopolitan Magazine. He be-
lieved in Frank Borzage. He
brought these two together.
The result has been seen, wept
over and applauded by nearly
everyone in the world.

The Photoplay Magazine
Medal of Honor, outside of its
importance as an award, is itself
a beautiful thing, worthy of such
a cause. Executed by Tiffany

Moving Pictures
By Alice M. Smith

and Company, of New York, it is of solid gold, weighing 123J/£
pennyweight, and is two and a half inches in diameter.

The inscription on the obverse reads: The Photoplay Magazine
M:dal. On the reverse, Presented to Cosmopolitan Productions
by Photoplay Magazine for the production Humoresque, the
best photoplay of the year 1920.

There were many votes for many worthy photoplays. But
the overwhelming vote for "Humoresque" attested the pop-
ularity and appreciation of this great drama. The fact that its

chief characters were Jewish

made no difference to the voters.

They recognized that it was
really not of any race or any
religion; it was universal in its
appeal.

""THE moving picture of the year!"

We doubt the verdict and inveigh
The judgment of our friends. We fear
To see another sex-display —
Revolting lust — that will dismay
The virtuous and gentle maid
And soil her mind. We shudder, aye,
Because we know such plays degrade.

"A movie star!" When featured here,

Are we to see a vulgar play;

A clownish lout, who must appear

And flapstick comedy portray1

Is he a cowboy wild and gay,

Who outlaws quells, and scorns the jade?

Will he from paths of virtue stray,

Reform, and lead the vice-crusade?

Why not depict something sincere

Of life? Give us a broad survey

Of high romance, with love and cheer;

Inspire the good and show the way

To noble thoughts and deeds; thus sway

The audience: make folks afraid

To do the wrong, or love betray. '

Why not make truth and art monade?

Oh, wonder-world of make-believe
And royal stars of prism and screen,
We ask for beauty; may you leave
Us love and hope and faith serene.

""THERE is no greater theme
* than that of "Humoresque."
Wc have had the love of man for
woman, told over and again on
the screen. And it has some-
times, as in "The Miracle Man,"
which incidentally would have
stood an excellent chance for
winning the Gold Medal had it
not been a 1919 release, been told
in a marvellous manner. But
mother-love is greater than all
of these. And "Humoresque"
told a story about it.

When Fannie Hurst first wrote
it, when it first appeared in Cos-
mopolitan, millions read it. But
when Hearst made it, with the
assistance of his most brilliant
helpers, many more millions saw
and loved it.

With the tremendous response
to its first Medal of Honor con-
test, Photoplay is already plan-
ning for the contest of 1921
photoplays. This contest will
not be open until six months
after the close of 1921, by which
time pictures released during the
latter part of the year may be
seen and have an equal chance
with the early releases of the
year.

In conclusion, Photoplay
wishes to congratulate Cosmo-
politan Productions and all those
concerned in the making of the
banner (Continued on page 113)

PLAY MEDAL OF HONOR

A celebrated writer who wrote
the original story of "Humor-
esque for Cosmopolitan
Magazine: Miss Fannie Hurst.

To William Randolph Hearst of
Cosmopolitan Productions PHOTO-
PLAY'S readers award the Medal
of Honor.

Frank Borzage, who directed
"Humoresque, is now estab-
lished as one of the screen s
great directors.

Adolph Zukor: the presi-
dent of Famous-Players
Lasky (Paramount), thecom-
pany which released and
distributed "Humoresque"
to all parts of the world.

Below : one of the soul-
stirrmg scenes from
the greatest photoplay
of 1920; enacted by
Vera Gordon, as the
mother, and Gaston
Glass, as the soldier
son. This picture 'was
the forerunner of all
the "mother* films,
and the greatest.

Her continuity for the fa-
mous photoplay added to
the fame of Frances Marion.

Joseph Urban, of Ziegfeld
Follies fame, was respon-
sible for the scenic artistry.

Last, but by no means least :

Gilbert Warrenton, the man

at the camera.

Scene at the left : Dore
Davidson as the father
and Vera Gordon as the
mother. Both players do
marvellous work. It made
Mrs. Gordon a star.

Below: When the son dis-
covers he can play the violin
again. The picture had a
"happy ending, and it was
better so, for the world needs
the optimism pervading this
masterpiece.

CONSTANCE TALMADGE AND HER MOTHER

Ir you like Constance Talmadge — and there is, so far as we know, only one person who doesn t: the
same woman who doesn t like Charlie Chaplin — you will want to see the person who is directly
responsible for hei — for her charm, her success, her wit. Her mother. "Peg," as her daughters.
Norma, Constance and Natalie, call her, is a great-hearted woman, a capable business executive, and
an astute manager. Here is a new portrait of her. The little girl? Oh, she's Mrs. Talmadge's

youngest daughter.

Oome of the famous stars of today
were just as famous yesterday.
Mabel Taliaferro was one of the
most celebrated "stage children".
Here she is, at the age of eight.

NOT SO
LONG AGO

Perhaps the most beloved little actress
of audiences of ten years ago was Mary
Miles Minter. As Juliet Shelby, she
played the title role in "The Littlest
Rebel with the Farnum brothers.

e well-known actor and moving
picture director. Richard Bennett.
When this photograph was taken,
he had no thoughts of future fame.

When she was in her
early teens. Viola Dana
created "The Poor
Little Rich Girl," and
her press-notices were
just as enthusiastic
then as they are today.
You remember Mary
Pickford played the
part on the screen.

ZAJ

ONE ARABIAN NIGHT— First National

'T'HIS is a most interesting picture, but it cannot honestly
* be as well recommended as the other products of the
German producer, Ernest Lubitsch. It is decidedly con-
tinental. From the title one would expect a veritable
Arabian Nights entertainment — glamorous, opulent, en-
chanting. It is not. The settings may be realistic, but,
with few exceptions, they are neither artistic nor beautiful.
The "love interest" is provided by Pola Negri, who plays
the desert dancer, whom the Sheik covets and claims.
There is the hunchback, who loves the dancer, and he
provides the chief comic motif, as well as the tragic.
Lubitsch himself plays the hunchback, and gives an ex-
traordinarily splendid performance. Negri is her usual glow-
ing, gorgeous, theatrical self. The National Board of
Review deserves much credit and a Yale yell for being
daring enough and human enough to show this picture
under its own auspices and endorsing it. See this, if you
are not afraid of the original and daring — but leave the
children home.

"I DO"— Rolin-Pathe

A COMEDY so often insinuates itself upon you, with its
■**■ momentary slapstick ingratiations, that you write
things you do not mean in the later analysis. In this case
everything we thought first is true. It's a corking thing,
this little picture. It is not slapstick; it is very human.
Lloyd never does things that you or I would not do. Things
happen to him with more celerity than they do with us,
that is all. Here he is a young married man with that little
blonde peach, Mildred Davis, as his wife. A relative leaves
his two darling little children in their care — and then the
fun begins. You can believe every bit of it, unless you are
so old and so soured that you have forgotten all the funny
things that ever happened to you when you were Harold
Lloyd's age. Lloyd is — always excepting Mr. Chaplin,
who is an immortal — our most believable comedian.

The

SHADOW

STAGE

Reg. U. S. Pat. Off.

A review of the new pictures

iJMffl

LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY— United Artists

MARY PICKFORD'S best picture, and one of the most
beautiful things ever filmed. The children's classic
story has become a classic of the screen, and it is entirely
fitting that "Our Mary" should immortalize it. It is the
sweetest, the most delightful of all her performances; she
plays Dearest, the mother, and Cedric Errol, the Little
Lord, in the greatest double exposure scenes ever made.
Cameraman Charles Rosher has done many wonderful
things in his long career as Little Mary's photographer, but
this is his most notable work. The film at first drags, but
this is more than made up for in the later scenes, which are
dramatic and pathetic and charming and funny. We take
issue with the self-appointed critics who write that Mary is
not a good Little Lord; that she is always Mary Pickford,
hardly a little boy. To our mind, she is perfect in the part.
Her diminutive little velvet-clad figure, her swaggering
walk, her boyish mannerisms all evidence her great art.
Her Dearest is one of the screen's loveliest portraits. All
the pathos and the beauty of motherhood are masterfully
painted. The direction, by Alfred Green and Jack Pickford,
is consistent, but we suspect that Mary, more than anyone
else, is responsible for this picture. Claude Gillingwater
gives the best performance of any actor's this year, as the
grouchy, gouty Earl of Dorincourt, whom Cedric teaches to
smile. His scenes with the star are touching, and she gener-
ously made him her co-star in them. Take the children —
take the whole family!

PHOTOPLAY'S SELECTION

of the SIX BEST
PICTURES of the MONTH

LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY

THE IDLE CLASS

ONE ARABIAN NIGHT

I DO

JUNGLE ADVENTURES

BITS OF LIFE

THE IDLE CLASS— First National

THAT great artist, Charles Chaplin, has done it again.
This new two-reeler, his first since "The Kid," by no
means approaches in artistry or immortality that classic of
the screen. But it is very, very funny; it shows Chaplin in
a dual role, and it contains some of the famous comedian's
best "business." Charlie plays the familiar tramp and also
an absent-minded husband. It is announced as a "satire
on society." This is not strictly true. It is not satire
except when Charlie is in it. And it is never subtle satire
when he is. But if you are not that one woman who
couldn't stand Charlie Chaplin, you will love it, and, as
this writer did, stay to see it through twice and go to see it
two more times. It kept a continual line outside the
Strand Theater in New York, where it was the week's
premier attraction — Chaplin, by the way, being the one
comedian who, with a two-reel picture, can occupy such a
position — and it was crowded, too, at a semi-public showing
before this. It is, we think, ranking next in order to "The
Kid" and "Shoulder Arms." 'there is a wealth of scream-
ingly funny detail, and there is, for the first time, Charles
Spencer Chaplin. We have had Charlie as a tramp, as an
emigrant, as a private, as a handy man, but we have never
before had him almost as himself. As the absent-minded
husband, he is extremely personable, and we suspect that if
he cared to he could play "straight" and get away with it.
See him; see the lovely, luscious Edna Purviance, as his
wife; see the "vision scene"; come one, come all!

unected by
i __ ...CI..J popular successes to

his credit, has attempted, and achieved, a film that will
bring into the more or less silent theaters many who have
never been there before. It is, briefly, four little photo-
plays, with no affinity other than that they are all dramatic
and, with the exception of the last, tragic. The film opens
with a letter by Neilan to the public, in which he says he is
up against it for good stories. The first tale is that of a
clever crook (Rockcliffe Fellowes), who, when he does his
first good deed, finds himself behind the bars. . Then another:
of the deaf barber, splendidly played by Frederick Burton,
who finds his hearing and loses his illusions. The next
story is a fine Chinese tale in which Lon Chaney and the
beautiful little Oriental, Anna May Wong, perform.
Neilan's own story is a fanciful little bit played by John
Bowers and the exquisite Harriett Hammond.

JUNGLE ADVENTURES— Exceptional

THESE "Adventures" concern themselves with the
journey of the Johnsons, Martin and Osa, into un-
familiar parts of Borneo. It is, strangely enough, the most
restful of all photoplays; its photography is amazingly
beautiful, and it is devoid of the sticky sentiment, the
harrowing dramatics, the persistent theatricalisms of too
many pictures. The heroine is the delectable Osa, who
trips about the jungles with more ease than most women
display in drawing-rooms. She is capably supported by
orang-outangs, elephants and alligators. The scenes are
smooth and lovely. The most delightful close-up we have
seen in years is that of a bear, who brings more admiring
ah's than the ingenues. The titles, by Arthur Hoerl, are
the snappiest the screen has recorded since Anita Loos has
had. her own company. Don't miss this; write to your
theater manager about it, and all that sort of thing.

azine

pictu
Alia pe.
Rudolph Vak

•

ROOM AND BOARD— Realart

XSTANCE BINNEY'S latest effort will not break

any box-office records, nor will it revolutionize the

,iovie industry, but it is a nice little romance and will

undoubtedly please. The scenes are Irish and the story is

all about an aristocratic colleen who rents her castle to a

handsome American millionaire. As the colleen, Constance

binneys to everybody's entire satisfaction.

THE MATRIMONIAL WEB— Vitagraph

A WELL spun web, with Alice Calhoun embarked upon an
adventure filled with surprises and suspense. A novel
introduction arouses interest which is not allowed to lessen.
It's a delightful family picture. The lovely little star
brings to all her work a charming naturalness and shows
artistic improvement with every picture. Watch this
handsome Joseph Striker, leading man.

ALL FOR A WOMAN— First National

IT is not Photoplay's intention to disclaim the worth and
the popularity of various importations in the celluloid
line. But it does say that the Germans are as capable of
turning out trash as any of the American producers. In
this retitled "Danton" you have an example of it. Its
actors are automatons — worse, for they act all over the
place. The director, the actors? What does it matter?

THE PLAYHOUSE— First National

THIS is Buster Keaton's initial First National Picture,
and it is a good beginning. It contains some very good
exposure stuff in which the star appears variously as the
orchestra leader, the lady in a box, the actors, and the
stage hand. Oh, yes — and as a monkey. Keaton ranks
third among screen comedians. You know the other
two.

BE YON D— Paramount

BEYOND," Ethel Clayton's latest, represents another
attempt to lift the veil that exists between the land
of the living and the spirit world. The story is improbable,
so that the sense of tremendous power which this spiritual
theme should convey is entirely missing. Henry Arthur
Jones wrote it and returned to England. We do not
wonder why. But Ethel Clayton is charming.

Photoplay Magazine

NO WOMAN KNOWS— Universal

EDNA FERBER'S "Fanny Herself" does not provide
good motion picture material. It deals with the
spiritual development of a Jewish girl, and though the
screen adaptation has been given a thoughtful interpreta-
tion, both by the director, Mabel Julienne Scott, and other
members of the cast, you'll grow restless during its tearful
unfoldment. It is tinted a deep, dark blue.

CHARGE IT— Equity

EVERY picture that Clara Kimball Young produces
attempts to point a moral. Sometimes it is difficult
for the average spectator to guess what the moral is, but
he can rest assured that it is there. "Charge It" is aimed
at foolish wives who run up bills. Why don't they pick on
penurious husbands for a change?

PASSING THROUGH— Ince-Paramount

CLEAN, wholesome comedy-drama of the type that has
brought Douglas MacLean his popularity. The action
is peppy, there's a suggestion of plot and humorous situa-
tions cleverly titled. A trained mule adds to the hilarity of
things occasionally, while Madge Bellamy lends her beauty
to the more serious scenes. A cheery family film, with no
dull spaces. See it.

MOONLIGHT FOLLIES— Universal

MARIE PREVOST brings her beauty, plus her bathing
suit, to the realm of feature films in a frivolous offering
that will appeal more to the eye than to the intellect.
But — Marie is certainly good for the eyes, and it is well to
rest the brain occasionally. You'll doubtless enjoy it.
Clyde Fillmore is the cave man de luxe.

THE PRIMAL LAW— Fox

P\CSTIX FARNUM returns to the screen in an enter-
*-^ taining western drama, not unlike many another of
its type, containing the necessary intrigue, suspense, crisis
and satisfactory conclusion. Far too many explanatory
sub-titles are used, but barring their wordiness the film is
interest-holding to the last. Mary Thurman is our hero's
heroine.

DANGEROUS LIES— British-Paramount

""THE best British-Paramount production to date. Here
*■ we have a rector's daughter who marries a lord, believing
her first husband (a worthless scoundrel) to be dead.
Husband Number One returns. Plot thickens. The
charming Mary Glynne, David Powell and Director Paul
Powell give E. Phillips Oppenheim's story a dignified treat-
ment. We'd welcome more like it.

Additional Shadow Stage Reviews Appear on Page ioj

Just a few stolid, undemonstrative Britishers trying to shake hands with
Charles Spencer Chaplin at Waterloo Station upon his arrival in London.

CHARLIE ABROAD

Editor 's note : This is the first of a series of articles by Charles

Spencer Chaplin, in which he gives his impressions of his travels

in Europe. This is about England, which, as you know, is

Chaplin's home-land. Next month — his trips to Paris.

By CHARLES S. CHAPLIN

Y first impression of
England is that it has
changed a great deal
during my long ab-
sence. They laugh heartily at
my American jokes.

I wonder if they are kidding
me?

When I consented to write
my impressions of Europe for
Photoplay, I didn't know
what it was going to be like.

I don't know yet. Except
that everything is very won-
derful and that I am viewing
life from afar. It's not I those
crowds were cheering for. It's
another chap entirely. A man
with a little moustache and big
shoes. Not a real man at all

They — those people thai
surged about me when I landed
and follow me about the street >
of London — they are disap
pointed, I think, that I am not
that little man. They don't
show it. They have been mar-
vellous and awe-inspiring. But
one boy screamed at me accus-
ingly, "Where are your
shoes?"

I felt guilty.

You know — while I'm on the
subject — who is it they like?

Down in the steerage, where they greeted him as "Charlie,

he was a great favorite. Here he is exchanging shillings

with one of the passengers who will keep it as a good luck

piece.

That little man, or me? The
moustache, the old shoes, the
baggy trousers — is that what
Charlie Chaplin means to
them?

I had a profound sense of
humility when I saw those peo-
ple who came to look at me.
When I saw the sea of faces at
Waterloo Station; when I saw
them from my window at the
Ritz Hotel later — I was proud,
and touched — and a little jeal-
ous. I think that when they
looked at me, they saw me, not
as myself, but as the little man.
Sometimes I wonder if I am
the real Charles Chaplin. Or
if lie is locked up in my dress-
ing-room in Hollywood. I feel
like sending him a cablegram:

Charles Chaplin
Chaplin Studios,
Hollywood, California.
How are you and everything
there. Everything is all
right here. Charles Chaplin.

That's the way I feel some-
times.

But back to London. There
are something like fifty thou-
{Conlinued on page 66)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Before you complete
your Christmas list

Look at this stunning manicure set!

Cutex
Traveling Set, $1.50

Contains Cutex Cuticle Re-
mover, Nail White, Pink
Paste Polish f Cake Polish,
nail file, emery boards and
orange stick —

IN a delightfully smart and conven-
ient set — everything you need to
keep your nails perfectly manicured.

Before you make up your Christmas
list, look at these Cutex sets. Note
how distinctive tJiey are— in their
dress of black and rose ! Each one
done up for the holidays in a spe-
cial Christmas wrapper! Any woman
would welcome one as an accessory
to her dressing table. See how handily
they are arranged — the file, the orange
stick, the emery board in a little sep-
arate compartment; the Cuticle Re-
mover, the Nail White, the Polishes,
each in the nicest possible container.

Everybody feels them to be a real
blessing, these sets — they make it so
easy to care for one's nails! Your first
Cutex manicure will seem like a mir-

Compact Set, 60c

All the chief manicuring neces-
sities in small packages.

Traveling Set, $1.50

All the chief manicuring neces-
sities in full sized Packages.

acle to you. However ragged you may
have made the cuticle by cutting, just
one application of the Cuticle Re-
mover will leave the nail rim smooth
and even. You will be delighted also
with the really professional touch of
grooming that Cutex Nail White and
Cutex polishes give to your nails.

Cutex Sets come in four sizes. The
smallest at 60c is called "The Com-
pact." In it are trial size packages of
Cuticle Remover, Nail White and
Paste and Powder Polishes, with nail
file, emery board and steel file — all
complete.

The next size at $1.50, is called
the "Traveling Set" because it is so
ideally suited to the toilet case; but it
is just as convenient for the dressing
table. It contains the Cutex prepara-

tions in full sizes, with larger size file,
orange stick and emery board.

Then comes the "Boudoir Set" at
£3.00. In it is everything one can
possibly need for the most immaculate
care of the hands. And lastly, the
"De Luxe," at $5.oo, the last word in
luxuriousness for manicuring.

Don't let another day pass without
looking at the Cutex Sets. Get one
and see how delightfully it works.
Each article in the set can be had
separately for 35c.

At all drug and department stores
in the United States and Canada.
Northam Warren, 114 West 17th
Street, New York.

Boudoir Set, $3.00

Everything for the most immac-
ulate care of the hands.

De Luxe Set, $5.00

The last word in luxuriousness
for manicuring.

CUTEX Manicure Sets

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

sand letters in the room before me
as I write this, on my little portable
typewriter, with a thousand auto-
graph albums to be written in, with
I don't know how many unopened
telegrams, and a line of persons
waiting every minute to come in. I
am not boasting when I tell you
about these things. It is a state-
ment of fact. I am just as puzzled
about it all as you are.

When I went off the boat at
Southampton, there were the Mayor
and the Mayoress and many other
people waiting there for me. The
Mayor and Mayoress are charming.
He called me "Charlie," asking me
to excuse this address, but it was
the one by which the world knew
me. One youngster asked me if I
had my shoes with me. I assured
him they were in my bag, so as not
to disappoint him.

Charlie Abroad

(Continued from page 64)

Way back in the farthest corner of his car is the young man they are making all
the fuss about. An escort of mounted police was detailed to protect Charles

Chaplin in London.

High and low brows alike love him. The Mayor of Southampton greeted

him as "The King of Mirth," but he also called him Charlie. Yes —

that young chap at the left is Mr. Chaplin.

As I left the boat train at Waterloo, I
stepped into a mass of people, who threw
their hats into the air and waved their hand-
kerchiefs and reached out to clasp my hand.
Most of them cried, "Good old Charlie!" I
lifted my hat once, or tried to, and said
something that sounded like "Thanks"; but
it wasn't very successful. They paid no
attention to the police who tried to clear a
way to my cab. Two girls rushed up and
kissed me.

After all, public life has its compensations.

I finally got to the Ritz Hotel. I climbed
over a hundred people to do it. I stood on
the step and tried to think of something to
say to them. All I could say was that
words were inadequate to express what I
felt. I meant it. Somehow before I got to
my suite on the second floor, my eyes were
wet; and I kept wishing that my mother
were there; it would have made the dear old
lady very happy.

It was the greatest (Continued on page 121)

A portrait of the personage who was mobbed in
Piccadilly, who caused young riots wherever he
went, and whose "welcome home to London was
a welcome such as is usually accorded only to
Britain's Prince.

He came to America travelling second-class. He went

back as the most distinguished passenger. But as he says,

"Life for me first class is just one autograph after another.

Here he is obliging a young admirer.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

"There goes a Stutz." You hear this
signal of admiration and approval every
day you ride in your Stutz.

It is an expression of the enviable Stutz
reputation for extraordinary service well per-
formed. Everybody realizes that the Stutz
is a sturdy, dependable motor car. This is
your assurance that wherever you travel,
wherever you stop, a respectful deference
is shown you.

If all these people who admire the Stutz
could but ride in the new car with its restful
comfort in travel obtained through longer

Four and Six^,

Passenger Models

*5550

springs and other refinements, they would
have an added sense of appreciation for
this fine car.

After a tour of 200 miles or more in a
Stutz, you come to a full realization of its
complete restfulness, smoothness of opera-
tion, tenacity in clinging to the road, and
absence of motoring annoyance.

The Stutz has a justified reputation for
consistency and durability. And at $3,250
and $3,350, it forms an entirely new com-
parison you cannot overlook when pur-
chasing a fine motor car.

STUTZ MOTOR CAR CO..OF AMEDICA.INC; UianapJis

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

When Dorothy was three
years old, she posed
for her first picture, in
Chicago, her home -town.
Here it is, above. She
wasn't ever camera-shy
you see.

CUTTING
BACK

She was the favorite
leading woman of
middle- •western
stock when she de-
cided to enlarge her
audiences and went
out to California stu-
dios of Thomas H.
Ince, where she first
played bits, and then
was given the lead-
ing role in "The
Flame of the Yukon,
which made her a
star.

At the right : Dorothy
today, the heroine of
Cecil deMille's
"Fool s Paradise, in
which she performs
some of the best
work of hei or any-
body s else — career.

The high-necked, ruffled
frocks were in vogue when
Dorothy was twelve ; and
she simply had to have
her picture taken again!

A few years — a very few
years later — Miss Dalton
made up her mind that
life held nothing more for
her if she didn t go on the
stage. She looked like
this (the picture at the
left) when she applied for
her first stock company
job. No wonder she got it.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Your Choice, On Trial

THE Wurlitzer plan gives you any Artistic quality of Wurlitzer instru- Every musical instrument known in-
instrumentwiih a complete musical ments is known all over the world. eluding Pianos and Victrolas, is em-
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your own home. No obligation to buy. of artists and have been used in the
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The new plan includes with the in-
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iviuiltmy j. a>lllClllS with it -velvet and plush lined carry-
Payments are arranged in small ing case with lock and key, all acces- .
monthly sums. A few cents a day will sories and extra parts, extra strings,
pay for your instrument and complete picks, tuners, self instructor, book of
outfit. The Wurlitzer plan effects a musical selections. The instruments A Wurlitzer Outfit
tremendous saving for you as every- are genuine Wurlitzer instruments. This shows the Wurlitzer Violin Outfit. Cases
thing is at factory cost. You get the The house of Wurlitzer has made the are professional style, beautifully finished,
outfit and instrument practically for finest musical instruments for more c<?JI!p,ieit™0U#ts like.this ar,f n2w fu"»shed

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the cost of the instrument alone. than 200 years. pon beiow today for new catalog.

OeaUtlllll JNeW Catalog | The Rudolph Wurlitzer Co., Dept. 1729

^ J .t • f^\ 117 E. 4th St., Cincinnati 700 Jackson Blvd., Chicago 120 W. 42nd St.. New York =

wCLld LO-1S V^OUt^On. = Send me your new catalog with illustrations in color and full description of the :

_ r : Wurlitzer Complete Outfits and details of the free trial and easy payment offer, s

Every known instrument illustrated and fully described in detail • =

with prices, monthly payments and free trial blank. Book con- \ Nnm. \

tains much musical history and information about musical instru- = "ame g

ment making. More pictures of instruments than in any other book g

published. (Also complete stock of accessories, repairs, strings and = Address g

all needs for replacements for any instrument made. Instant mail = s
service.) Book is absolutely free. No obligation. Send coupon now.

THE RUDOLPH WURLITZER COMPANY " '{state ' muii'c'al instrument in whiehyou are 'e^'eeially interested) '
Cincinnati, Ohio Chicago, Illinois New York, N. Y. bunuiuu lumiii • ■•■■ ■■■•■•■ i •• ■■••■ ••• •■■■■•• intuu'ij

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

'Go %

Title Keg. U. S Pat OR

'I 'HIS is TOUR Department. Jump right in with your contribution.
■*• What have you seen in the past month, that was stupid, unlifelike,
ridiculous or merely incongruous? Do not generalize; confine your
remarks to specific instances of absurdities in pictures you have seen.
Your observation will be listed among the indictments of carelessness on
the part of the actor, author or director.

Adv.

IN "Buried Treasure" there is a terrific combat between
pirates of the early Spanish pirate days. It is noticeable
that men on both sides are loyal wearers of B. V. D.'s.

Cyril Joyce, Chicago, 111.

Oh, Baby!

TN James Oliver Curwood's story, "The Golden Snare,"
•*• Wallace Beery saves the baby from the burning ship. When
the baby grows up and looks through her baby clothes in the
box, there is a french-heeled slipper in it.

Sarah Welsh, Birmingham, Ala.

Extravagance

pLARA KIMBALL YOUNG, the heroine of "Charge It,"
^■^ is seen at the club with her husband, Herbert Rawlinson.
He tips the waiter and there is a close-up of the tray with a
dime on it. Yet Clara reproaches him for having given the
waiter only a quarter!

Hazel Dyer, Providence. R. I.

Now, Now!

TN "Burn 'Em Up

* Barnes," an auto-
mobile race took place
supposedly in July, yet
Barney Sherry wore an
overcoat. And on all
the racers there were
New York licenses,
although the race was
run in Pennsylvania.

One of the titles in
the same picture about
Barnes' mother read:
"who now stays off of
railroad trains." The
title-writer probably
took one of those cor-
respondence courses
that guarantees to
teach correct English
in two lessons.

B. M. Thompson,
Pittsburgh, Pa.

Barrymore Technique
T ALWAYS knew that

* Lionel Barrymore
was a wonderful actor,

but I never suspected that he could sit down, in full
evening dress, simply to draw a line across a small card — and
rise, fully attired in business clothes, as he did in "The Master
Mind." It must have made the cameraman mad to wait
while he changed. D. A. L., West Springfield, Mass.

Constance, Conjuror

IX "Lessons in Love," Constance Talmadge decides to write
Kenneth Harlan a letter. Before she begins to write,' she is
wearing a gorgeous diamond bracelet. While she is writing the
letter to Kenneth the bracelet has disappeared from her arm,
but when the letter is finished she picks it up and reads it over
and behold, her arm is decorated with the missing jewels!

Mae M. McElroy, Baltimore, Md.

A Big Business Man

jWf ILTON SILLS, in "The Little Fool," is dictating into a
iV* dictaphone. In his mouth is a pipe; a foot away is the
dictaphone. I would like to know how he does it.

J. S. T., Seattle, Washington.

Perhaps Highbrows Don't Taste Good

TT is all very well to declare money isn't everything and that
*■ blessed are the poor in purse. But why don't doors on movie
mansions ever have screens in summer? In "The Woman in
His House", the child runs in and out and never a screen do
we see. But apparently the flies never take advantage of this.
Arabella Flynn, Lake Forest, 111.

Too Technical

DEING a switchboard operator myself, I was very much
*-* amused at the operator in Constance Binney's "Such a
Little Queen." She was a tall, thinnish woman who chewed
gum vigorously and had on the switchboard an artistic design
using four cords from the same row. This would mean that
there were four men on the wire from private offices connecting
with this main one — each talking to himself and no one else,

for there were no other
connections.

Edna Rehm,
Oak Park, 111.

Heroes Never Get Hurt
T N FranklynFarnum's
*■ "The Hunger of the
Blood," Franklyn rode
leisurely into the midst
of a lot of Indians who
were firing directly at
him. He escaped with-
out a scratch. Did he
wear armor under those
lovely clothes?

Glory Sanford,
Trenton, N. J.

TrQ?f(M

One of Those Local
Storms Perhaps

THERE was a storm
in "The Furnace."
That is, tents were be-
ing blown down in the
foreground of the scene
by the heavy wind;
but when you looked back a little you saw the trees nodding
serenely in the gentle summer breeze, and the sun shining
merrilv through it all.

W. H., Philadelphia, Pa.

The Poor Things Must Keep Up Their Morale

PRISCILLA DEAN in "Reputation," as Pauline Stevens, is
unable to procure work and is slowly starving. As she drags
her weary bones up the stairs of her tenth rate boarding house,
it is plainly seen that she wears silk stockings of an expensive
brand. Will you ask Miss Dean for me where they grow?

Marion B. Dixon,

Englewood, N. J.

Keep

that school
complexion

A fine, fresh and blooming skin, radiant with
health and free from blemishes, isn't the attri-
bute of early youth alone. Every woman can
keep her schoolgirl complexion long after youth'
has flown.

Proper care is the secret — care which keeps
the skin in perfect health. This means the sci-
entific cleansing which makes each tiny pore and
skin cell active. You must use soap and water
freely — you must use it every day.

Begin this treatment today

Wash your face gently with the mild, creamy
lather of Palmolive, massaging it softly into the
skin. Rinse thoroughly and it will carry away
all the dangerous accumulations which so often
cause skin infection.

Then apply a touch of cold cream, smoothing
it into the skin. You will be delighted at the
way your complexion looks and feels, at its
smoothness, fine texture and fresh color. This
special face washing formula is thorough. It
will not cause irritation.

Volume and efficiency permit us
to sell Palmolive for

Remember blackheads come from pores fill-
ing up with dirt — that pimples follow when this
dirt carries infection.

Daily cleansing is your protection against skin
troubles. Powder and rouge are harmless when
applied to a clean skin.

Discovered 3,000 years ago

The use of Palm and Olive oil as cleansers is
as old as history. Ancient F.gypt discovered
their value 3,000 years ago.

These oils are combined in Palmolive soap
because modern science can discover no finer,
milder ingredients. They are cosmetic oils,
soothing and healing. They impart these virtues
to Palmolive soap.

And best of all the price of Palmolive puts it,
though so great a luxury, within the reach of all.

Only 10 cents

Although money can't command finer, milder,
more beneficial cosmetic soap, modern manufac-
turing science has reduced the price- to 10 cents
a cake. The enormous demand keeps
the Palmolive factories working day
and night. It permits the purchase
of the costly" ingredients in gigantic
volume.

Thus while women prefer Palmolive
for their facial soap, it is also the
popular family soap of America. The
toilet luxury all may enjoy at the
price ot ordinary soap.

THE PALMOLIVE COMPANY
Milwaukee, U. S. A.

The Palmolive Comoany of Canada, Limited
Toronto, Out.

Manufacturers of a complete line of toilet articles.
Copyright 1921-The Palmolive Co. 1280

Try Cleopatra's way to complexion beauty
She used cosmetics of every kind to enhance her
charm, but cleansing with Palm and Olive oils
fame first. The same rule, applied today, will keep
your complexion fresh, youthful and free from
blemishes.

Use the same Palm and Olive oils. mild and
soothing. They are scientifically combined for the
use < . r modern women in Palmolivi — the beautify-
ing cleanser.

Beauty and the ^Mistletoe

The mistletoe is only an excuse; her beauty is the lure, for it instantly
captivates him. Her lovely coloring "deepens" the flashing brilliance
of her eyes, and enhances the sparkling whiteness of her teeth
— for she knows and uses the complete " Pompeian Beauty Toilette."

First, a touch of fragrant Pompeian
DAY Cream (vanishing). It softens the
skin and holds the powder. Then apply
Pompeian BEAUTY Powder. It makes
the skin beautifully fair and adds the
charm of delicate fragrance. Now a touch
of Pompeian BLOOM for youthful color.
Do you know that a bit of color in the
cheeks makes the eyes sparkle with a new
beauty? Presto! The face is beautified
and youth-i-fied in an instant ! (Above
3 preparations may be used separately or
together. At all druggists, 60c each.)

TRY NEW POWDER SHADES. The
correct powder shade is more important

than the color of dress you wear. Our
new NATURELLE shade is a more deli-
cate tone than our Flesh shade, and
blends exquisitely with a medium com-
plexion. Our new RACHEL shade is a
rich cream tone for brunettes. See offer
on coupon.

Pompeian BEAUTY Powder— natur-
elle, rachel, flesh, white. Pompeian
BLOOM — light, dark, medium. Pom-
peian MASSAGE Cream (60c), for oily
skins; Pompeian NIGHT Cream (50c),
for dry skins; Pompeian FRAGRANCE
(30c), a talcum with a real perfume
odor.

Get 1922 Panel — Five Samples Sent With It

"Honeymooning in Venice." What romance! The golden moonlit
balcony! The blue lagoon! The swift-gliding gondolas! The serenading
gondoliers! Tinkling mandolins! Thesighing winds of evening! Ah, the
memories of a thousand Venetian years! Such is the story revealed in the ,
new 1922 Pompeian panel. Size 28x7 'i inches. In beautiful colors. Sent
for only 10c. This is the most beautiful and expensive panel we have ever
offered. Art store value 50c to $1. Money gladly refunded if not wholly
satisfactory. Samples of Pompeian BEAUTY Powder, DAY Cream
(vanishing), BLOOM, NIGHT Cream (an improved cold cream), and
Pompeian FRAGRANCE (a talc), sent with the Art Panel. With these
samples you can make many interesting beauty experiments. Please tear
off coupon now and enclose a dime.

THE POMPEIAN CO., 2131 Payne Avenue, Cleveland, Ohio

Also Made in Canada

"Don't Envy Beauty — Use Pompeian"

GUARANTEE

TEAR OFF NOW

To mail or to put in purse as shopping-reminder.

I - — — -

1 THE POMPEIAN COMPANY

I 2131 Payne Avenue, Cleveland, Ohio .

| Genliemen: 1 enclose 10c (a dime preferred) for 1922
- Art Panel. Also please send five samples named in offer.

Name

I Address.

| City

_| Naturelle shade powde

-.lit unless you write another below.

Mrs. Potiphar said :

"Whyfore that
middle button is
nearly off!

THE case of Potiphar vs. Jacobson is one of the most
interesting in the history of Egyptian jurisprudence.
The complainant, a prominent Egyptian and colonel of
that crack regiment, the Pharaonic Guard, petitioned the
court to impose a life-sentence upon one Joseph Jacobson, a
rising young wheat speculator, who had arrived in Egypt a few
years previously with a band of strolling Ishmaelites. Col.
Potiphar appeared in the suit as the next of kin to Mrs. Poti-
phar, a distant cousin and also his wife, who was the real
complainant in the case.

The only material evidence submitted was an article entered
in the records as "the garment." Counsel for the petitioner
set up that this article — "Exhibit A" — was the property of
the defendant, who was the youngest son of a wealthy sheep
rancher by the name of Jacob Isaacson.

Ownership of "the garment" by Joseph Jacobson having
been proved to the satisfaction of counsel for the complainant,
and apparently also of the court, the next step was to establish
the circumstances under which the same had come into the
possession of Mrs. Potiphar.

In this phase of the proceedings the widest divergence de-
veloped. As ladies had no standing in Egyptian tribunals
higher than a police court at that period, Mrs. Potiphar's story
was told in court by her husband. Testifying under oath,
Col. Potiphar, O. G. S. (Order of the Golden Scarab), said in
effect:

That, owing to defendant's proficiency in figures, he (com-
plainant) had engaged him as bookkeeper, paymaster and
majordomo of his domestic establishment on the bank of the
Nile;

That the said Joseph had so satisfactorily discharged the
duties imposed upon him that he had become a household
favorite;

That the said Mrs. Potiphar, a Daughter of the Delta Revo-
lution and a lady of unblemished reputation, had taken a
liking to said Joseph Jacobson and had entertained him from
time to time at tea;

That these attentions were entirely devoid of any senti-
mental character on the part of the said Mrs. Potiphar, but

VAMPS OF
ALL TIMES

As seen when a modern
spot-light is turned
upon ancient legends.

SVETEZAR

TONJOROFF

VI— POTIPHAR'S WIFE

were always intended as an encouragement to
the young majordomo to perform even more
zealously his duties to his master;

But that, on the occasion designated in com-
plainant's short affidavit, the said Jacobson so
far forgot the respect he owed to his mistress, the
said Mrs. Potiphar, that, on the plea of excessive
heat, he did there and then take off, doff and
divest himself of the said garment (marked
"Exhibit A"), that he flung it aside and pro-
ceeded to make himself as comfortable as if he
were in his own office in the basement.

Here the complainant's counsel produced a
sensation by disclosing for the first time the
nature of the garment in question. A murmur of astonish-
ment rustled around the courtroom, and even the venerable
presiding judge, Mr. Justice Fellahoon, adjusted his glasses
and craned his neck slightly when counsel produced the "coat
of many colors" of which so much has since been written in
the book called "Genesis."

In closing his case, the complainant told how Mrs. Colonel
Potiphar, moved to profound indignation by this lapse of man-
ners, had rung for the servants, ordered Jacobson out of the
house and was on the point of flinging his coat of many colors
after him when it occurred to her that she might need the said
garment for evidence. She therefore retained possession of it.
Speaking under the stress of strong emotion, Col. Potiphar
turned to Mr. Justice Fellahoon and concluded in a husky
voice :

"I submit, your honor, that the good name of Mrs. Colonel
Potiphar can be protected only by the imposition of a life
term on this impudent foreigner."

A round of applause broke out in the courtroom at this
outburst. It was quickly suppressed by the energetic crack-
ing of a two-thonged whip by the Grand Crocodile, that is to
say, the marshal of the court.

The defendant was brought in under a heavy guard. He
was securely manacled, and, in addition, to his left leg was
attached, at the ankle, a large iron sphere or ball. This ball,
as he entered, he carried with some difficulty with both hands.
After he had taken the stand he dropped this heavy impedi-
ment with a resounding thud to the floor.

"Order, order!" admonished the Grand Crocodile, with a
flourish of the whip as a titter ran around the room.

It was noticed that the prisoner was freshly shaven and had
the appearance of a man who had slept well during the previous
night. He wore a gray coat, which hung in graceful folds from
his broad shoulders.

"Is this coat yours?" asked the presiding judge sternly,
pointing to Exhibit A.

"It is, your honor," replied Jacobson in a quiet and sub-
missive voice.

This answer seemed to take Mr. (Continued on page 112)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Why You Must Have Beautiful, Well-
Kept Hair to be Attractive

EVERYWHERE you go your hair is
noticed most critically.

It tells the world what you are.

If you wear your hair becomingly and
always have it beautifully clean and well-
kept, it adds more than anything else to
your attractiveness.

Beautiful hair is not a matter of luck,
it is simply a matter of care.

Study your hair, take a hand mirror and
look at the front, the sides, and the back.
Try doing it up in various ways. See just
how it looks best.

A slight change in the way you dress
your hair, or in the way you care for it,
makes all the difference in the world in its
appearance.

In caring for the hair, shampooing is al-
ways the most important thing.

It is the shampooing which brings out
the real life and lustre, natural wave and
color, and makes your hair soft, fresh and
luxuriant.

When your hair is dry, dull and heavy,
lifeless, stiff and gummy, and the strands
cling together, and it feels harsh and dis-
agreeable to the touch, it is because your
hair has not been shampooed properly.

When your hair has been shampooed
properly, and is thoroughly clean, it will be
glossy, smooth and bright, delightfully
fresh-looking, soft and silky.

While your hair must have frequent and
regular washing to keep it beautiful, it
cannot stand the harsh effect of ordinary
soaps. The free alkali in ordinary soaps

soon dries the scalp, makes the hair brittle
and ruins it.

That is why discriminating people use
Mulsified Cocoanut Oil Shampoo. This
clear, pure and entirely greaseless product
cannot possibly injure and it does not dry
the scalp, or make the hair brittle, no mat-
ter how often you use it.

If you want to see how really beautiful
you can make your hair look, just

Follow This Simple Method

FIRST, wet the hair and scalp in clear,
warm water. Then, apply a little
Mulsified Cocoanut Oil Shampoo, rubbing
it in thoroughly, all over the scalp and
throughout the entire length, down to the
ends of the hair.

Rub the Lather in Thoroughly

TWO or three teaspoonfuls will make an
abundance of rich, creamy lather.
This should be rubbed in thoroughly and
briskly with the finger tips, so as to loosen
the dandruff and small particles of dust and
dirt that stick to the scalp.

When you have done this, rinse the hair
and scalp thoroughly, using clear, fresh,
warm water. Then use another applica-
tion of Mulsified.

You can easily tell when the hair is per-
fectly clean, for it will be soft and silky
in the water.

Rinse the Hair Thoroughly

THIS is very important. After the final
washing the hair and scalp should be
rinsed in at least two changes of good
warm water and followed with a rinsing in
cold water.

After a Mulsified shampoo, you will find
the hair will dry quickly and evenly and
have the appearance of being much thicker
and heavier than it is.

If you want to always be remembered
for your beautiful well-kept hair, make it
a rule to set a certain day each week for a
Mulsified Cocoanut Oil ^_ ^

Shampoo. This regular
weekly shampooing will
keep the scalp soft, and
the hair fine and silky,
bright, fresh looking and
fluffy, wavy and easy to
manage, and it will be
noticed and admired by
everyone.

You can get Mulsi-
fied Cocoanut Oil Sham-
poo at any drug store or
toilet goods counter.
A 4-ounce bottle should
last for months.

Splendid for children.
WAT KINS

Your Hair Should Be Dressed so as to Emphasize Your Best Lines and Reduce Your Worst Ones

Begin by studying your profile. If you have a pug nose, do not put your hair on the top of your head; if you have a round, fat face, do not fluff your hair out too much
at the sides ; tf your face is very thin and long, then you should fluff your hair out at the sides. The woman with the full face and double chin should wear her hair
high. A 11 these and other individual features must be taken into consideration in selecting the proper kairdress. Above all, simplicity should prevail. You are always
most attractive when your hair looks most natural—when it looks most like you.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

^QUESTIONS

ff AND

Lanswersj

Y"OU do not have to be a subscriber to Photoplay
A Magazine to get questions answered in this Depart-
ment. It is only required that you avoid questions
that would call for unduly long answers, such as
synopses of plays, or casts of more than one play. Do
not ask questions touching religion, scenario writing or
studio employment. Studio addresses will not be
given in this Department, because a complete list of
them is printed elsewhere in the magazine each month.
Write on only one side of the paper. Sign your rull
name and address; only initials will be published if
requested. If you desire a personal reply, enclose self-
addressed stamped envelope. Write to Questions and
Answers, Photoplay Magazine, 25 W. 45th St.,
New York City.

'RS. BILLEE. — You girls have evi-
dently been eating Billie Burke
chocolates and sleeping in Billie
Burke pajamas. Miss Burke is to
open in New York soon in a new play by
Booth Tarkington. Her last appearance on
the stage was in "Caesar's Wife," in which
she was supported by Norman Trevor, who
is now playing with Marie Doro. Ward
Crane with Constance Binney in "Some-
thing Different," with Anita Stewart in
"The Yellow Typhoon" and with Irene
Castle in "French Heels." Betty Compson
in "At the End of the World."

Josephine, Manila. — Nice letter.
Thanks for the ad. Corinne Griffith admits
she was born in Texarkana, Texas, but re-
fuses to state in what year this momentous
event occurred. Her hair is blonde, her
eyes are brown, her height is five feet three.
Lila Lee was born in New York City in 1902.
She has black hair and eyes, and is just
exactly as tall as Mrs. Webster Campbell.

Jeanette. — You say you heard a funny
joke. I'm glad of that. So many of them
are not funny at all. Rod La Rocque was
born in Chicago in 1898 with black hair and
eyes. And he hasn't changed much. He's
six feet tall at present, and there's a chance
he may grow a little as he isn't of age yet.
Don't tell him I told you. He's ashamed of
his age — or I should say, his youth. In this
respect, he greatly differs from most of the
matinee idols, including yours respectively.

Francis. — Gareth and Lloyd Hughes are
not related. Gareth is a Welshman. He
was born in Llanelly, Wales, in 1897, while
Lloyd was born in Bisbee, Arizona, in 1899.
Gareth was educated in Paris; Lloyd in Los
Angeles. So you see they have nothing in
common. Mr. Lloyd Hughes recently
married little Gloria Hope. Gareth isn't
married at all. Mary Thurman hasn't been
in comedy for a long time. She's in Dusty
Farnum's latest, "The Primal Law.'

Pinky. — Is it natural, or does it come out
of a bog? I have my suspicions. Gladys
Walton was born April 13, 1904, in Boston,
Mass., though you'd never think it to look at
her — that she was born in Boston, I mean.
She was born in Portland, Oregon, and has
brown hair and hazel eyes. Address, Uni-
versal, U City, Cal.

Billy B. — So you think I resemble Mr.
Conway Tearle. I would that I did. But if
I looked like Mr. Tearle I assure you I
would be in the movies. Julia Faye was the
delectable maid in "Male and Female."

Peggy Hoover. — No relation to Herbert.
Do I like you as I used to? I'm sure I do.
But I don't remember how I used to like
you. Glad you like Photoplay and its
Answer Man. Bert Lytell, I regret to in-
form you, is married to Evelyn Vaughn. I
don't regret to inform you that he is mar-
ried to Evelyn Vaughn, but that he is mar-
ried at all. He was born in 1885, and he is
living in Hollywood. Address him Metro
studios.

American Beauty Rose. — There are
songs written about you, but can't recall
them just now. Yes, if I see Conway Tearle
in New York I'll remind him of you. But
I'll have to remind him of me first. May
McAvoy was born in New York in 1901.
She has brown hair and blue eyes, is four
feet and eleven inches, and weighs ninety-
four pounds. Address Miss McAvoy,
Lasky studios. She's a nice child, May. I
haven't heard that she is engaged again.
She has never been engaged at all as far as I
know. As usual there have been rumors.

Dagmar. — Your list of favorites is very
wise, since it includes almost every star in
the silent so to speak drammer. Your
particular pet, Justine Johnstone, is indeed
beautiful. I saw her once at the opening of
a new play. She was all in white, with an
ermine cape and silver flowers around her
head. If Walter Wanger hadn't been with
her — but he was. They have been married
several years, and are both abroad just now.
Justine is five feet seven, weighs 122 pounds,
is of Swedish descent, and was born in
Englewood, New Jersey, on January 31,
1899. Her pictures for Realart: "Black-
birds," "The Plaything of Broadway,"
"Sheltered Daughters" and "A Heart to
Let." A letter in care of Realart will be
forwarded to her. Give Justine my regards
when you write.

Helen R. — Richard Martin plays the
leading role in "Beyond the Great Wall."
He is one of the younger leading men. He is
not married.

Marguerite. — So you have heard a new
joke. Somebody said to somebody, "Are
you married or do you live in Hollywood?"
Yes, that has been my favorite film joke for
ten years. Athole Shearer has been en-
gaged to play ingenue leads in Shiller Pro-
ductions, which are in Yonkers. I have no
information concerning her sister.

Phyllis. — It has been rumored that
Douglas Fairbanks has. bought the film
rights to "The Three Musketeers," but
since you don't believe all these wild
rumors, I'd advise you to go to your favorite
theater and see his latest picture. Doug is
married to Mary. Gloria Swanson is Mrs.
Herbert K. Somborn, but will not be very
much longer. Milton Sills is married to
Gladys Wynne. Leon Gendron in "Scram-
bled Wives." Elliott Dexter is married to
Marie Doro.

Marie Kelly. — You don't need to use
green ink. I know you're Irish. Roy
Stewart is filming four Peter B. Kyne
stories for Ben Wilson. Zena Keefe is
twenty-five; Niles Welch thirty-three, and
Kenneth Harlan twenty-six.

Mary Elizabeth, Greenville, S. C. —
My answers have made you laugh and
laugh, and you think Photoplay should be
proud to have a man like me. Between you
and me, I think you are entirely right, but
am not sure the Editor agrees with us.
Owen Moore was formerly Mr. Mary Pick-
ford. Now he is Mr. Kathryn Perry. Mary-
Miles Minter is not married. Mary's
mother and grandmother both say so, and
they ought to know.

Eleanor. — Well, I won't say I adore
Marilynn Miller, but I will commit myself
and declare that there is no singing and
dancing actress on Broadway I'd sooner see.
This is not Chcsterfieldian, but it is truth.
Vivian Martin does not give her age for
publication. She has a little daughter, but
very little has ever been given out about
her. Miss Martin prefers to have a private
life.

Saxon, Baltimore. — Wallace MacDon-
ald and Doris May are co-starring — in pri-
vate life. Doris is now a film star. More
power to her. Her first is "The Foolish
Age."

Florence. — The cast of " Unseen Forces "
follows: Miriam Holt — Sylvia Breamer;
Winifred — Rosemary Theby; Clyde Brun-
lon — Conrad Nagel; Arnold Crane — Robert
Cain; Captain Staunley — Sam de Grasse;
Robert Brunton — Edward Martindel; Peter
Holt — Harry Garrity; Joe Simmons — James
Barrows; Mrs. Leslie — Aggie Herring; Mr.
Leslie — Andrew Arbuckle; Henry Leslie —
Albert Cody. The Robert Brunton men-
tioned is not the Robert Brunton of the
Brunton studios; and the Albert Cody is not
Lew's brother. I might as well tell you now
as later.

Hoakum from Yoakum. — Is right, when
you tell me that I'm simply marvellous and
mysterious and a lot of other things like
that. I'm about as mysterious as a plate
glass window and not marvellous at all.
But thanks, anyway. Marjorie Daw does
not freckle. Next time address your ques-
tions to Miss Carolyn Van Wyck, the
Editor of the Fashion Department.

Questions and Answers

(Continued)

Bantry, Victoria, Australia. — I am
being showered with roses this session. And
it's mighty good of all of you. The cast of
"Gloria's Romance" follows: Gloria Staf-
ford— Billie Burke; Dr. Stephen Royce —
Henry Kolker; Richard Freneau — David
Powel; David Stafford — William Roselle;
Frank Muiry — Frank Belcher; Pierpont
Stafford — William T. Carleton; Lois Free-
man— Julie Power. Jack Crosby as Fred
Brood in "Black is White." Holmes Her-
bert is married.

Anxious Albert. — Monroe Salisbury
has his own company now, and like most of
the players who have their own company,
he hasn't made many pictures since he has
had it. (I speak of it like the mumps, or
something.) He has released no film since
"The Barbarian." He says he is to do a
Spanish picture this fall. He was born in
1879. Ruth Clifford, February 17, 1900.
Claire Adams, the quiet little heroine of the
Hodkinson Productions, March 12, 1999.

V. W. C. — One of those weight and height
hounds. Why? In the sable stillness of the
night I keep asking myself "Why?" Anita
Stewart, five feet five, 125 pounds; Agnes
Ayres, five feet four, 114 pounds; Betty
Blythe, five feet eight and a half, 145
pounds; Bebe Daniels, five feet four, weighs
123. Now go out and get weighed.

Marie. — Here are your addresses. I
hope every one of them sends you a large,
beautifully autographed photograph.
Dorothy Gish, D. W. Griffith studios,
Mamaroneck, N. Y.; Elsie Ferguson, Para-
mount; Bert Lytell, Alice Lake and Viola
Dana, Metro; Billie Rhodes, Clever Com-
edies, Los Angeles.

Alda, Hong-Kong. — Thanks for your
letter. And for your Christmas and New
Year greetings, which are a little premature
but still appreciated.

{Continued on page 120)

HERE ARE THE MOVIE MOMMERS

By
GLADYS HALL

THE Movie Mommers are here! They are There!
They are Everywhere!
Now jazz it — they are here, they are there, they are
everywhere — cv-er-y wh-ere — !

They have been
from the Beginning.

They shall be un-
to the End.

The Movie Mom-
mers are omnipres-
ent, all knowing, all
informative and all
the time.

They deal with
the facts of the life
of their own partic-
ular star as a juggler
deals with a bright
little ball. It de-
parts from him, but
never quite from
him. A blonde lit-
tle, shy little star
may depart from,
but never quite from
her dear Movie
Mommer.

Be she ingenue or
vamp, be she pro-
gressive or retro-
gressive, be she self-
opinionated or of the
gendre clinging-
vinas, she has taken
root in her Movie

Mommer and to transplant is to move the mountain to
Mohammed.

To move the mountain to Mohammed is again the simile
when it comes to removing a Mommer from an Interview.

It is like this: One interviews a Star. One anticipates a
tete-a-tete, clubby and a deux. One anticipates amiss. A
Movie Mommer amply admits one. (They are almost always
ample.) A Movie Mommer tells one how clev-er one is to be
"a writer." A Movie Mommer insists that she has read all
one's "things." One feels immediately constrained to prove
one's surpasing cleverness anew in the individualized direc-
tion of said Movie Mommer's ewe star.

After an interim, during which one is sicklied o'er with the
pale persistencies of Movie Mommer's platitudes, one darts

Movie mommers are omnipresent, all-knowing,
all-informative, and all the time.

a few frail shafts of interrogation at the object (now secon-
dary) of one's peregrination. Ewe Star, thus turned
on, begins to prattle. Movie Mommer begins to inter-
ject, "Now, my Dear, why don't you tell the nice young

lady this — she never
tells anything about
herself"; or, "Oh,
Darling, you didn't
tell the dear young
lady that — she is so
reticent." Well
started , Movie Mom-
mer proceeds to reel
off in six parts the
detailed and glorify-
ing remarks of each
director, cam era-
man, second camera-
man, property man,
exhibitor, producer,
assistant director,
lighting expert,
photographer, inter-
viewer and fan since
first Ewe Star made
her cellularly cele-
brated entrance into
or onto the Cinema
Cosmos.

By this time Ewe
Star's dim trail of
thought is lost. By
this time one is not
so clev-er as one was.
Movie Mommer
shimmies in her ele-
ment. Begins, then, upon reminiscences of Ewe Star's infancy,
from which one deduces the fact that she was the same
prodigious, precocious, beautiful, bouncing baby that every
Movie Mommer's Ewe Star has been since first there was a
Mommer, Movie or otherwise.

The Shades of Night are Falling Fast — upadee — ada. The
Eleventh Hour tells — Movie Mommer comes to with a start.
Lays a finger 'longside of her nose. Recollects — Says 'Shall
she go?' 'Has she been talking too much?' 'Is she loo fond
a mother?' 'But if one knew!' ' It has seemed so chummy —
one is just like one of the family!' Has one got all the infor-
mation one came for?' And will one come again? Perhaps in
a few weeks there will be more to tell.' Generally kisses one
good-bye! Selah

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Win your battles

the day beiore

they happen

IT was the night before the finals. The runner-up did
nothing but talk to his friends about his chances the
next day. He slept very little that night. The cham-
pion took his mind off the next day's work by playing cards
for an hour or two, and then retired without a worry.

The champion won the match easily, or rather the run-
ner-up lost it. He was defeated by his own nervousness.

In business, as in sport, successful men and women know
that the right kind of play is as important as the right kind
of work. Invariably they

Play cards for wholesome recreation

They find that a well-played game of cards not only
relieves the mind of all the troubles of the past or to come,
but also recreates the very faculties — -concentration, mem-
ory, perception — that are most needed for the next day's
problems. Play cards often, be a good player, and you
will be more expert in everything else.

Send for a copy of "The Official Rules of Card Games" giving com-
plete rules for 300 games and hints for better playing. Check this and
other books wanted on coupon. Write name and address in margin
below and mail with required postage stamps to

The U. S. Playing Card Company
Dept. U-2 Cincinnati, U. S. A., Manufacturers of

^BICYCLE

PLAYING CARDS

(Also Congress Playing Cards. Art Backs. Gold Edges.)

Auction Pitch at a Glance

PLAYERS— 4 to 7- Best 4 or 5 hand.
RANK OF CARDS— A (high) to 2 (low).

DEAL — Using full pack, deal six cards to each
player, three at a time.

OBJECT OF GAME— To hold in hand highest
and lowest trumps in play; to take, in tricks, jack
of trumps and cards which count for game. (See
Scoring.)

THE PLAY— Eldest hand names the trump, or
he may sell the privilege to highest bidder and add
points bid to his score. No player is permitted
to bid enough to put eldest hand out. (In some
localities player may bid to full strength of his
cards, but eldest hand can score only to within 1
pointof game.) Bidding passes toleft;each player
is allowed only one bid; and each must bid higher
than the preceding players or pass. Eldesthand
may refuse bids and pitch the trump himself; in
this case he must make as many points as the
highest bid, or be "set back." Eldest hand may
name the trump without waiting for bids,
but if he fails to make 4 points, he is "set back."
If no bid is made, eldest hand must pitch the
trump. No penalty for bid out of turn.

BIDDING TO THE BOARD— The modern
style i3 to bid to the board, no player getting the
points offered. Eldest hand bids first; no second
bids are allowed. Any player can bid as high as
four, but no one can claim the privilege of pitch-
ing the trump for as many as bid by another.

LEADING — Highest bidder (or eldest hand, if
he has refused to sell) leads and indicates trump
by his first card. Even if led in error, the first
card irrevocably indicates trumps. Each player
must play a trump on first lead if possible and
highest trump takes trick Winner of trick, leads
for next one. When hands are played out, cards are
bunched and new deal follows. After first trick,
any suit may be led. Player holding suit of card
led, must either follow suit or trump; player not
holding suit of card led may either trump or dis-
card.

SCORING— Scoring points, are high, low, jack
and game. If eldest hand sells, he scores the
amount bid. In case two or more players count
out on the same deal, and one of them is maker
of trump, he goes out first. If neither is maker
of trumps, points score in the following order:
High— highest card in play, counts I point for
player to whom it was dealt. Low— lowest card
in play, counts 1 point for player to whom it was
dealt. Jack— Jack of trumps counts I point for
player who takes it in trick. Game — counts I
point for player who takes in cards which figure
highest, counting tens at 10; Aces, 4; Kings, 3;
Queens, 2; Jacks, 1. In case of tie, no game
point is scored.

SET BACK— If bidder fails to make the num-
ber of points he bid, he is set back and the amount
of bid is subtracted from his score. If he is set
back more points than he has credit he is said to
be "in the hole" and a ring is drawn around the
minus amount.

REVOKE PENALTIES— In case of revoke by
any player, except maker of trumps, the latter
cannot be set back, even if he fails to make amount
bid, and each player but one revoking, scores
whatever he makes. Revoking player is set back
amount of bid. If no bid was made, he is set
back 2 points. If maker of trumps revokes, he is
set back amount of bid, and each other player
scores whatever he himself makes. Maker of
trump cannot score on a deal in which he has
revoked.

GAME — 7 or 10 points, as agreed.

For full rules and hints on bidding and
play see "The Official Rules
of Card Games" or "Six Pop-
ular Games" offered below. I

.' The

V 8.
,..„„ Playing

\CARD ,' Card Co.
fTRiaeV Dept.U-2Cin-
.J'S cinnatl.O. Send
'V- postpaid books
* checked below.

□ "Official Rules
of CardGames"
300 games. 250 pages. 20c
IDD" I — 1 "Six Popular Garnet"

-' I I Auction, Cribbage, Pitch,

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I I structive kindergarten lessons. Not card games but

pasteboard stunts, using old cards as bits of board. 6e.
All 6 books 40c. Write Name and Address in margin below.

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOl'LAY MAGAZINE.

Jrlqys and Jp/qyers

Real news and interesting com-
ment about motion pictures and
motion picture people.

By CAL. YORK

CHARLES SPEN-
CER CHAPLIN
came; he saw; and
he conquered.
England gave its fa-
vorite son a reception
that she usually reserves
for the Prince of Wales.
In fact, the idolized Ed-
ward is the only other
personage who was ever
greeted with a riot such
as Chaplin got.

He tells in his own in-
teresting and inimitable
way of his experiences.
Read " Charlie Abroad,"
in this issue.

SAW Gladys Hulette
and her husband,
William Parks, Jr., on
the Avenue the other
afternoon. Gladys
looked like some little
school-girl in her kiddish
sports coat and tarn ; and
her husband doesn't look
much older. They are
both as nice as they can
be.

He plays with Corinne
Griffith in her newest
picture.

MARY PICKFORD
reinforced her
tremendous popularity
when she attended the
first night of "Little
Lord Fauntleroy" in a
New York Theater.

In the box with Mary
were her exuberant hus-
band, Qouglas Fair-
banks; Jack Pickford,
who helped direct the
picture; and Mrs. Char-
lotte Pickford. All of the Pickford family
except Lottie went abroad a week later.
Even little Mary Pickford the Second went
along with her aunt and grandma.

Mr. Fairbanks made, a speech at the
premier, referring to himself as one of
Mary's added attractions. Mary didn't
make a speech at "The Three Musketeers,"
but then she has always been a retiring per-
sonage. Her picture has been a great suc-
cess; and everyone who knows Mary is
glad, for she surely deserves it.

GLORIA SWANSON has announced that
she and her husband, Herbert Som-

i'uuiugrdjjn uy \ iaor Georg.
Meet Mrs. Ralph Graves. She was Marjone Seaman when Ralph
Graves met her during the filming of Dream Street, in which he was
the hero and she a minor character. They were married in Minneapolis,
Minnesota, where the bride-to-be was "on location" with a film company.
Mr. Graves, on his way west to appear in "Kindred of the Dust," stopped
off long enough for the knot to be tied. Miss Seaman finished her picture
and then joined her husband in Hollywood. The marriage was to be kept
a deep, dark secret. But somebody told!

love and make a home
for and she and my work
will completely absorb
me. I do not wish ever
to be separated from her
again. I feel I shall be
happiest this way."

ANNOUNCEMENT
has been made in
the Los Angeles news-
papers that the reported
engagement of William
S. Hart and Jane Novak,
if it ever existed has been
terminated and that
there will be no wedding
bells in that direction.

Although the engage-
ment was never con-
firmed, it was definitely
accepted and said to be
true by intimate friends
of both Mr. Hart's and
Miss Novak's. It was
supposed that neither of
the stars would confirm
it because Miss Novak's
divorce from her first
husband was not yet
final and that any such
announcement as her
future wedding plans
might interfere with her
final decree.

But that has been
handed down and Mr.
Hart is now quoted as
saying, "No, we are not
going to be married.
It's not true and I wish
it were— but it isn't."

Miss Novak, as usual,
remains mysteriously,
sweetly, silent.

born, are actually separated and that she
will probably divorce him, although she
never expects to marry again.

" I came home one day from location and
found he had packed his things and left
me," said the exotic screen beauty. "He
left a note saying he didn't want to see me,
but he would want to see the baby.

" It was just a case of 'didn't get along' I
guess.

"I shall never marry again. I am earn-
estly, terribly ambitious to succeed in my
work. I want to do something really big
and I am willing to devote my life to it. I
have my beautiful little baby daughter to

ERE is our idea of a
real motion picture
palace. A dance hall; a roof-garden, a
restaurant, and a swimming-pool besides
the auditorium that seats 1200 people.

There is only one picture house in the
United States that has all of these extra
added attractions; and that's the Hippo-
drome, of Okmulgee, Oklahoma.

ELSIE FERGUSON is at home— on Park
Avenue — again, after her trip to Europe
on which she was accompanied by her hus-
band, Thomas Clarke, the banker.

The exquisite Elsie is more charming than
{Continued, on page 80)

WK/CH/

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Your skin needs two different
creams at different times

For daytime use — the cream
that will not reappear in a shine

A TIRED looking skin adds years to a
•*■*- woman's age. To freshen the skin in-
stantly, use the cream made without oil. You
can put it on just before you go out, for there
is nothing in it which could reappear in a
shine.

Take a bit of Pond's Vanishing Cream
and smooth it lightly in with an upward mo-
tion. The dullness, the flat unbecoming
tones disappear — your complexion takes on
a new freshness and transparency.

When you Powder, do it to last. The per-
petual powdering that most women do is so
unnecessary. Here is the satisfactory way to

PON D'S

For the nightly cleansing,only
Pond's Cold Cream, the cream
made with oil, •will do

make powder stay on. First smooth in a little
Pond's Vanishing Cream — this cream dis-
appears entirely, softening the skin as it goes.
Now powder. Notice how smoothly the
powder goes on — and it will stay on two or
three times as long as usual. Your skin has
been prepared for it.

This cream is so delicate that it can be
kept on all day without clogging the pores,
and there is not a drop of oil in it which
could reappear and make your face shiny.

At night — the cleansing cream

made with oil
Cleanse your skin thoroughly every

night if you wish it to retain its clearness and
freshness. Only a cream made with oil can
really cleanse the skin of thedust and dirt that
bore too deep for ordinary washing to reach.
At night, after washingyourface with thesoap

In the daytime, use Pond's Plan-
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you have found best suited to it, smooth
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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Plays and Players

{Continued from page 78)

i'liutograpn by Underwood & Underwood.
Doug, Mary, and Little Mary, just before they sailed away to France to be gone
for a whole year. Little Mary, you know, is Mary Pickford trie second, the dimin-
utive daughter of Lottie Pickford. Somebody presented Mr. Fairbanks with a
D'Artagnan doll. He still has his "Three Musketeers" mustache, you see.

she has ever been. If you saw her in "Foot-
lights," her greatest picture, you know what
we mean. She's sparkling, and youthful,
and humorous. She brought back a dozen
Paris gowns and good health.

The success of her latest picture is said to
be because she and John Robertson, who
directed her, were in accord and worked
well together. Miss Ferguson has some-
times been called temperamental ; and she is.
But not with the accent on the temper. She
is highly-strung, idealistic, and sensitive.
She is an aristocrat. Her new play, by
Zoe Akins, called "Varying Shores," is said
to be the finest thing she has ever done.
More power to her!

GOLDWYN'S "Theodora" opened in a
Broadway Theater.

It is the Italian spectacle brought over
here by Count Ignazio di Revel. Rita
Jolivet plays the title role. You may re-
member that she starred in American-made
pictures some years ago.

The Count di Revel, by the way, is a
most distinguished and delightful gentle-
man, and an Oxford graduate.

A luncheon was given to him, to Abel
Gance, and to Louis Mercanton, the French
producing-director. Di Revel sat quietly
and looked on. An exhibitor present learned
who he was, came up to him, almost slapped
him on the back, and said jovially: "Well,
well, Count Revel, I'm certainly glad to
meet you."

We couldn't help wondering how the
Count took it all.

A PERFECTLY painless teacher is the
motion picture.
The latest lesson is drawing. It's done by
drawing on the screen the various characters
in the Mother Goose stories, and making
them come to life. A pen comes on the

screen and begins to draw: first the cat, then
the fiddle, then the cow, the moon, fish and
the spoon. They all come to life; the cow
jumps over the moon, the dog will bark, and
the dish will run away with the spoon unless
the censors cut it out.

Other rhymes will be shown: "Humpty
Dumpty," "Hot Cross Buns," "The Story
of the Three Bears," "Hickory Dickory
Dock" and many others.

Don't you wish they had had all that
when we went to school?

CLARA KIMBALL YOUNG is going
into vaudeville, according to a report
from California. After seeing "Charge It,"
we can understand why.

THE petition filed by Agnes Ayres in a
Los Angeles court to have her screen
name made her legal one as well, in place of
her real name which is Mrs. Agnes Shuker,
reminds us that there are a number of
beautiful screen luminaries who decided
that a rose by some other name would smell
a good deal sweeter.

We all know that Mary Pickford was
originally Gladys Smith — but how funny it
would be if Betty Blythe had remained
Betty Slaughter, or Colleen Moore was still
Kathlyn Morrison, or Doris May had kept
her real name of Doris Gregory.

It wouldn't mean a thing to you if you
saw Juliet Shelby's name in electric lights,
but that happens to be Mary Miles Minter's
official title, and Shirley Mason should be
Miss Flugrath, and so should her sister
Viola Dana.

And of course if you saw the name Bessie
Appel you would fail utterly to recognize
under it that little artist Lila Lee, but
Bessie Appel is her name.

Mary McLaren was born Mary Mac-
Donald.

Wanda Hawley has some unpronouncable
Swedish cognomen, so she wisely adopted
her married name for screen purposes — she
is actually Mrs. Burton Hawley, you know.
And Florence Vidor did likewise, although
her own name of Florence Arto wouldn't
have been so bad.

UNIVERSAL, on the heels of the Roscoe
Arbuckle case, has come forward with
an announcement that it has inserted a
"morality clause" into all its present and
future contracts. In effect, the clause says
that any actor or actress who commits any
act tending to offend the community or out-
rage public morals and decency, will be
given five days' notice of the cancellation of
his contract with the company.

That's all very fine and very virtuous.
But doesn't it look a little as if Universal
were seizing the notoriety of the Arbuckle
case to bring favorable comment upon it-
self?

FANNIE WARD fans please note.
The beautiful actress has deserted us —
permanently. She has severed the last tie
between herself and America. She has
ordered all her household treasures sold: all
the contents of her gorgeous California
home, and has bought a house in London,
where she is living with her husband, Jack
Dean, and her daughter.

Her daughter, by the way, is quite
wealthy in her own right. She is the widow
of a prosperous Englishman.

THE month wouldn't be complete with-
out at least one engagement to announce
from film circles. This time it is Barbara
Bedford, who has just been elevated to star-
dom by Fox, and Irvin Willat, the director.
No date has been set for the wedding, for
Miss Bedford is very young and very busy
and thinks it would be better to "wait a
while." {Continued on page 82)

Here is Robert Ellis : the new husband
of May Allison. He is a well-known
director and a popular leading man.
They meant to keep their marriage a
secret, but it leaked out. Read all
about it in this issue of "Plays and
Players.

•>V

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

NERVE EXHAUSTION

How We Become
Shell- Shocked in
Every - Day Life

By PAUL VON BOECKMANN

Lecturer and Author of numerous books and treatises on Mental and Physical Energy, Respiration, Psychology, Sexual Science and Nerve Culture

THERE is but one malady more ter-
rible than Nerve Exhaustion, and
that is its kin, Insanity. Only those
who have passed through a siege of Nerve
Exhaustion can understand the true-mean-
ing of this statement. It is HELL; no other
word can express it. At first, the victim is
afraid he will die, and as it grips him
deeper, he is afraid he will not die; so great
is his mental torture. He becomes panic-
stricken and irresolute. A sickening sensa-
tion of weakness and helplessness overcomes
him. He becomes obsessed with the thought
of self-destruction.

Nerve Exhaustion means Nerve Bank-
ruptcy. The wonderful organ we term the
Nervous System consists of countless mil-
lions of cells. These cells are reservoirs
which store a mysterious energy we term
Nerve Force. The amount stored repre-
sents our Nerve Capital. Every organ
works with all its might to keep the supply
of Nerve Force in these cells at a high
level, for Life itself depends more upon
Nerve Force than on the food we eat or
even the air we breathe.

If we unduly tax the nerves through over-
work, worry, excitement, or grief, or if we
subject the muscular system to excessive
strain, we consume more Nerve Force than
the organs produce, and the natural result
must be Nerve Exhaustion.

Xerve Exhaustion is not a malady that
comes suddenly. It may be years in de-
veloping and the decline is accompanied by
unmistakable symptoms which, unfortu-
nately, cannot readily be recognized. The
average person thinks that when his hands
do not tremble and his muscles do not
twitch, he cannot possibly be nervous. This
is a dangerous assumption, for people with
hands as solid as a rock and who appear to
be in perfect health may be dangerously
near Nerve Collapse.

One of the first symptoms of Nerve Ex-
haustion is the derangement of the Sympa-
thetic Nervous System, the nerve branch
which governs the vital organs (see diagram).
In other words, the vital organs become
sluggish because of insufficient supply of
Nerve Energy. This is manifested by a
cycle of weaknesses and disturbances in
digestion; constipation, poor blood circula-
tion and general muscular lassitude usually
being the first to be noticed.

I have for more than thirty years studied
the health problem from every angle. My
investigations and deductions always
brought me back to the immutable truth
that Nerve Derangement and Nerve Weak-
ness is the basic cause of nearly every bodily
ailment, pain or disorder. I agree with the
noted British authority on the nerves,
Alfred T. Schofield, M.D., the author of
numerous works on the subject, who says:
"It is my belief that the greatest single
factor in the maintenance of health is that
the nerves be in order."

The great war has taught us how frail
the nervous system is and how sensitive it
is to strain, especially mental and emotional
strain. Shell Shock, it was proved, does not
injure the nerve fibres in themselves. The
effect is entirely mental. Thousands lost
their reason thereby, over 135 cases from
New York alone being in asylums for the
insane. Many more thousands became
nervous wrecks. The strongest men be-
came paralyzed so that they could not
stand, eat or even speak. One-third of all
the hospital cases were "nerve cases," all
due to excessive strain of the Sympathetic
Nervous System.

The mile-a-minute life of today, with its
worry, hurry, grief and mental tension is
exactly the same as Shell Shock, except
that the shock is less forcible, but more pro-
longed, and in the end just as disastrous.
Our crowded insane asylums bear witness
to the truth of this statement. Nine people
out of ten you meet have "frazzled nerves."

Perhaps you have chased from doctor to
doctor seeking relief for a mysterious
"something the matter with you." Each
doctor tells you that there is nothing the
matter with you; that every organ is per-
fect. But you know there is something the
matter. You feel it, and you act it. You
are tired, dizzy, cannot sleep, cannot digest
your food and you have pains here and
there. You are told you are "run down"
and need a rest. Or the doctor may give
you a tonic. Leave nerve tonics alone. It
is like making a tired horse run by towing
him behind an automobile.

Eyes — Nose

Ears

Throat

Bronchials
Chest Breathing

Diaphragm

Stomach

SOLAR PLEXUS

Liver

Intestines

Kidneys

Colon

Bladder
Pelvic Organs

The Sympathetic Nervous System

Showing how Every Vital Organ is governed by the Ner-
vous System, and how the Solar Plexus, commonly
known as the Abdominal brain, is the Great Central
Station for the distribution of Nerve Force.

Our Health, Happiness and Success in
life demands that we face these facts under-
standing^. I have written a 64-page book
on this subject which teaches how to pro-
tect the nerves from everyday Shell Shock.
It teaches how to soothe, calm and care for
the nerves; how to nourish them through
proper breathing and other means. The
cost of the book is only 25 cents. Remit
in coin or stamps. See address at the bot-
tom of page. If the book does not meet
your fullest expectations, your money will
be refunded, plus your outlay of postage.

The book, "Nerve Force," solves the
problem for you and will enable you to
diagnose your troubles understandingly.
The facts presented will prove a revelation
to you, and the advice given will be of
incalculable value to you.

You should send for this book today. It
is for you, whether you have had trouble
with your nerves or not. Your nerves are
the most precious possession you have.

Through them you experience all that makes
life worth living, for to be dull nerved
means to be dull brained, insensible to the
higher phases of life — love, moral courage,
ambition and temperament. The finer your
brain is, the finer and more delicate is your
nervous system, and the more imperative
it is that you care for your nerves. The book
is especially important to those who have
"high strung" nerves and those who must
tax their nerves to the limit.

The following are extracts from letters
from people who have read the book and
were greatly benefited by the teachings set
forth therein:

"I have gained 12 pounds since reading
your book, and I'feel so energetic. I had
about given up hope of ever finding the
cause of my low weight."

"I have been treated by a number of
nerve specialists, and have traveled from
country to country in an endeavor to restore
my nerves to normal. Your little book has
done more for me than all the other methods
combined."

"Your book did more for me for indiges-
tion than two courses in dieting."

"My heart is now regular again and my
nerves are fine. I thought I had heart
trouble, but it was simply a case of abused
nerves. I have reread your book at least
ten times."

A woman writes: "Your book has helped
my nerves wonderfully. I am sleeping so
well and in the morning I feel so rested."

"The advice given in your book on relaxa-
tion and calming of nerves has cleared my
brain. Before I was half dizzy all the time."

A physician says: "Your book shows
you have scientific and profound knowl-
edge of the nerves and nervous people. I
am recommending your book to my pa-
tients."

A prominent lawyer in Ansonia, Conn.,
says: "Your book saved me from a nervous
collapse, such as I had three years ago. I
now sleep soundly and am gaining weight.
I can again do a real day's work."

The Prevention of Colds

Of the various books, pamphlets and
treatises which I have written on the subject
of health and efficiency, none has attracted
more favorable comment than my sixteen-
page booklet entitled, "The Prevention of
Colds."

There is no human being absolutely im-
mune to Colds. However, people who
breathe correctly and deeply are not easily
susceptible to Colds. This is clearly ex-
plained in my book NERVE FORCE.
Other important factors, nevertheless, play
an important part in the prevention of
Colds — factors that concern the matter of
ventilation, clothing, humidity, tempera-
ture, etc. These factors are fully discussed
in the booklet Prevention of Colds.

No ailment is of greater danger than an
"ordinary cold," as it may lead to Influenza,
Grippe, Pneumonia or Tuberculosis. More
deaths resulted during the recent "Flu " epi-
demic than were killed during the entire war,
over 6,000,000 people dying in India alone.

A copy of the booklet Prevention of
Colds will be sent Free upon receipt of 25c
with the book Nerve Force. You will agree
that this alone is worth many times the
price asked for both books. Address:

PAUL VON BOECKMANN

Studio 51, 110 West 40th St., New York

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued from page 80)

Mae iviu.iru.ii and Ltavid Pi

George Fitzmaurice'a Paramount

ma fowsil in ireorge tttzi
Picture, " Idols of Clay"

The most fascinating thing
in the world!

The wonder, the thrill, the joy, the deep personal
gratification of seeing your own thoughts, your own
ideas, your own dreams, the scenes you pictured in
your fancy, the situations sketched in your imagina-
tion, the characters you whimsically portrayed, —
all gloriously come to life right there on the screen
before your very eyes, while you sit in the audience
with that .flushed, proud smile of success! Yours!
Yours at last.. And you never dreamed it could be!
You doubted yourself, — thought you needed a
fancy education or "gift of writing."

To think of thousands now writing plays and
stories who used to imagine they Never Could!
Not geniuses, but just average, everyday, plain, me-
and-you kind of people. Men and women in many
businesses and professions — the modest worker, the
clerk, the stenographer, bookkeeper, salesman,
motorman, truckman, barber, boiler-maker, doctor,
lawyer, salesgirl, nurse, manicurist, model — people
of all trades and temperaments, deeply immersed
in "manufacturing movie ideas," of planning scen-
arios, of adapting ideas from photoplays they see,
of re-building plots, of transforming situations, or
re-making characters seen on the films — all devot-
ing every moment of their spare time to this absorb-
ing, happy work! Turning leisure hours into golden
possibilities!

And the big secret of their boundless enthusiasm,
now catching on like wild-fire among all classes of
people, ig that many of them, by reading some
article, just as you are reading this, have discovered
the wonders of a New System of Story and Play
Writing, published at Auburn, New York, which
enables them to make such rapid progress that they
are soon transfixed with amazement at the sim-
plicity and ease with which plays and stories are
put together for the magazines and moving picture
studios.

For the world's supply of photoplays is constantly
absorbed in the huge, hungry maw of public demand.
Nearly anybody may turn to playwritlng with profit.
It is the most fascinating thing in the world! And also
most lucrative. Skilled writers live in luxury and have
princely incomes. They dictate their own terms and
never are dictated to. They live and work and do as
they please. They are free, independent, prosperous
and popularl

You need not stay outside of this Paradise, unless you
Want to! You have as much right to Success as they.
They, too. had to begin — they, too, were once uncertain
of themselves. But they made a start, they took a chance,
they gave themselves the benefit of the doubt, they
simply Believed They Could — and They Did! Your
experience may be the very same, so why not have a try
at it? The way Is wide open and the start easier than
ever you dreamed. Listen! The Authors' Press, of
Auburn. New York, today makes you this astonishing
offer: Realising that you, like many others, are uncertain
of your ability and don't know whether you could learn
to write or not, they agree to send you absolutely free,
"The Wonder Book for Writ-
ers." which is a book of wonders
for ambitious men and women,
beautifully illustrated with hand-
some photographs — a gold mine of
ideas that will gratify your expec-
tations so fully that you will be on
the ti -toe of eagerness to Begin
Writing at Once!

So don't turn over this page
without writing your name and
address below and mailing at once.
You've nothing to pay. You're
not obligated in the slightest.
This Magnificent Book is
Yours — Free — No Cash Ac-
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to this offer. Your copy Is all
ready, waiting to be mailed to
you. Send and get it now.

The Authors' Press, Dept. 378, Auburn, N. Y.

Send me ABSOLUTELY FREE "The Wonder
Book for Writers." This does not obligate me in
any way.

Name.

Address

City and State . ,

Pauline Starke plays the leading role in Vitagraph's "Flower of the North,"
opposite Henry Walthall. The mother's role figures prominently in the story
and the director was having a hard time to find an actress who looked enough
like Pauline to play it. One day the director saw a woman on the set. "You're
the one, he declared. It happened to be Pauline's own mother, — and here

she is.

- -V^

ILLIANGISH made one of her very rare glittering roofs. Norma's jewels will no
personal appearances on the first night longer blaze with their friendly ferocity,

of the second week of "Way Down East,
at the Strand Theater on Broadway.

The lovely Lillian refused at first to con-
side the personal appearance problem; but
managers are insistent, and she was finally
obliged to give in. She is one of the stars
who is anything but disillusioning in a flesh-
and-blood close-up. Ask anyone who saw
her that night. She was quite the quaintest
and sweetest thing who ever appeared in a
theater.

THE other week was "Dual Role Week"
on Broadway.

At the Apollo Theater, on Forty-second
Street, Mary Pickford was enacting both
"Cedric Errol" and "Dearest" in "Little
Lord Fauntleroy."

At the Strand, a few blocks up the street,
Charlie Chaplin was starring — twice — in
"The Idle Class."

And at the Rivoli, good old bad-man Bill
Hart was holding forth as "Three Word
Brand," Three-Word Brand's twin brother,
and Three Word Brand's father.

THE report is going the rounds of the film
rialto in Manhattan that the Talmadge
sisters, Constance and Norma, are going to
work in the west.

In that event the Talmadge studio in east
Forty-eighth Street will be rented or
empty; and two of New York's most shining
stars will be lost to first-nights and the

putting those diamonds and pearls of
bankers' wives and opera stars to shame.
No longer will Constance's ankle twinkle
down the Avenue with its diamond anklet —
but there, we seem to be getting senti-
mental.

So many stars have been deserting the
east for the west, we should have been
hardened to it before now.

The Talmadges probably want to be in
California so they can see their sister
Natalie once in a while.

THERE are plans afoot in Germany for
a new film company with a capital of
125,000,000 marks. The purpose of it
will be to introduce films which will stimu-
late national feeling among the Teuton's.

At the head of the company will be the
great coal baron of Germany, the financial
wizard, Hugo Stinnes; and Erich von
Ludendorff, the ex war-lord. Ludendorff
will have the title of "supreme censor"
to all the films produced by the new com-
pany.

Well, Well!

ALICE CALHOUN is making "The
Little Minister," for Vitagraph.
The Paramount picturization of the
Barrie classic with Betty Compson in the
title role, is ready for release.

Whom do you think will make the better
"Babbie"? (Continued on page 84) -

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.- -

Photoplay Magazine

Larger

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^HE PRIZE

If no

If one

If $9.00

pens are

$5 pen is

Worth

purchased

Pens are
purchased

1st Prize

$20.00

$500.00

$1,500.00

2nd Prize

10.00

250.00

750.00

3rd Prize

5.00

125.00

375.00

4th Prize

5.00

75.00

187.50

5th Prize

5.00

50 00

100.00

6th Prize

3.00

25.00

75.00

7th Prize

3.00

20.00

50.00

8th Prize

3.00

15 00

40.00

9th Prize

2.00

15.00

30.00

10th to 15th 2.00

10.00

20.00

Hr-

4£

When you write to advertisers please mention I'lJOTOI'I.AY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

What Do You
Owe Your Wife?

Do you remember the promises

AMERICAN SCHOOL

Dept. G-971, Drezd Are. and 58th SL, Chicago, III.

AMERICAN SCHOOL

Dept. G-971, Drexel Ave. and 58th St., Chicago
Send me full information on how the PROMO-
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Name

Address

Any director will tell you that it's no easy matter to direct an infant actor. But

John Stahl manages it by making believe it is all a game. Richard Headrick,

film star and swimming champ, has the time of his life in the studio or on location.

He cries if they don't let him work!

NOTHING has been announced as yet,
and it is not generally known, but we
have more than a sneaking suspicion that
Pearl White will not be with Fox very much
longer. The erstwhile empress of the serials
has not been happily cast in any of the Fox
dramas, and in her latest, "A Virgin Para-
dise," she is not even starred on the bill-
boards.

We always think of Miss White as the
Pearl of Pathe, don't you?

THE interesting news has just leaked out
that Kathleen O'Connor, Vitagraph star,
and Lynn Reynolds, who has directed most
of the Tom Mix pictures, were married in
Los Angeles about three months ago and
are spending their honeymoon at Mr. Rey-
nold's beautiful new home in the Hollywood
foothills. The romance was a sort of sky-
rocket affair and the knowledge of the wed-
ding when a little bird chirped it about,
came as a complete surprise.

ALSO apparently not many people know
that Helene Cha'dwick, the Goldwyn
leading lady, is in private life Mrs. Billy
Wellman. These two have been married for
some time, in fact we understand that the
ceremony took place just after Mr. Well-
man returned from France where he was an
Ace in the Lafayette Escadrille. But Miss
Chadwick doesn't believe in advertising her
domestic bliss, it seems, so only their inti-
mate friends knew of it. Mr. Wellman is at
present an assistant director on the Fox lot.

IRAN into Dorothy Gish and her hand-
some husband, Jim Rennie, in a quiet
little Fifth Avenue tea-room the night of
Rennie's dress rehearsal for " Pot Luck," his
new play.

You can always recognize Dorothy by her
very emphatic little gestures. If you saw
" Hearts of the World " you saw in the Little
Disturber the real Dorothy Gish. She is just
like that. Except, of course, that she is an
exceedingly well-bred young person.

"Tomorrow night," she said in her
inimitable staccato, "I'll be so nervous I'll
be biting my finger-nails. I'll be much
more nervous than Jim. Won't I, Jim?"
Tim looked at her adoringly. "It's a nice
little play," he smiled.

"Lillian and I took an afternoon off from
the orphans and met Constance and we all
shopped. Jim's been rehearsing."

The play, by the way, is by Edward
Childs Carpenter. The higher-browed
critics were not very kind to it; but the
public likes it, and after all, that's all that
matters. Lillian, the lovely sister-in-law of
the featured Mr. Rennie, was in the au-
dience. It's one of the few first nights the
busy star has ever attended. Dorothy and
her chum, Constance Talmadge, led the
cheering. It was largely a family affair.

CATHERINE CALVERT is a film
celebrity who has returned to the stage.
She is the Spanish heroine of "Blood and
Sand," the Broadway adaptation of Ibanez'
novel, in which Otis Skinner is starring.
Miss Calvert plays the vivid vampish Dona
Sol, the Spanish great lady who so demor-
alizes Skinner's El Gallardo, the great bull-
fighter, that he loses his cunning. Miss
Calvert is a dashing heroine and one of the
most beautiful women on the American
stage.

It is not generally known that she suffers
from lameness. She is remarkably brave,
and gives no evidence of the illness that
made her lame and kept her from .stage and
screen for several years. She is worthy of
the applause that greets her every per-
formance of the Ibanez play when she
makes her entrance, gorgeous in Spanish
laces and shawl.

WHEN you are fought over in a court of
law, you know you are rich and famous.

It wasn't Jackie Coogan, but Jackie
Coogan's effigy: the "Kid" doll, that was
wrangled over. Jackie in his red sweater
and checked cap, his costume in Chaplin's
masterpiece, appeared as a doll last April
He appeared twice, in last. And a Supreme
Court Judge will have both figures in court
to look them over.

The company which manufactured the
doll is asking an injunction to restrain the
other company from manufacturing and
selling the Coogan dolls.

Never mind who wins. The point is, that
it's all about a youngster of eight who
brought the civilized world to his small feet
in one pictu re.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)

IT'S called "The Kick in It." Sounds in-
teresting.

But all the kick is out of it when we tell
you that it is only the name of a picture that
the society folk of Tuxedo Park have made
and have exhibited for charity.

They're very exclusive at Tuxedo, but
they fell for the films at last; and they have
made a real movie thriller, all about a Wild
Mountain Girl and a moonshine still.

Names you have seen in the society
columns are listed in the cast.

BEBE DANIELS, who is really an old
resident of Los Angeles (her people
have been socially and professionally prom-
inent here for three generations and her
grandfather was one of the best known men
of his time and has streets and carlines
named after him\ has bought a new home on
West Adams street, this being the old ex-
clusive residential district, far removed
from Hollywood or Beverly Hills.

Here Miss Bebe resides with her mother,
her little Span'sh grandmother, from whom
she inherited her beauty, and a bevy of
devoted aunts. The house is very stately
and old-fashioned and spacious and sur-
rounded by large and ancient trees.

She entertained there the other evening
with a delightful little dinner in honor of
Nina Wilcox Putnam, the writer, who came
west to write a screen story of Cuba for the
little star.

HOW'D you like to work for Adolph
Zukor? He is the president of Para-
mount, you know.

The other day — and it was one of the
loveliest days of fall — he had a party. It
was at his estate on the Hudson. He had
four hundred guests whom he sent for in
private cars. They were all the eastern
employees of Famous Players, who had the
time of their life playing golf and tennis,
and base ball with their boss. He's the kind
of a boss to have!

BETTY BLYTHE returned to Holly-
wood after a long visit to New York
and celebrated her arrival by appearing in
person at the production of "The Queen
of Sheba," in which she is starred, at a Los
Angeles theater.

Rarely in the history of Los Angeles has
the personal appearance of a star met with
such a reception. Miss Blythe is a Los
Angeles girl, and has hosts of friends who
had seen her splendid performance as Sheba
and wanted to congratulate her. Con-
sequently when she appeared on the stage,
clad more fully but quite as gorgeously as in
her screen double, she was greeted with
college yells, wild cheers and applause, and
showers of flowers. The whole stage was
packed with floral offerings, which excited
ushers kept handing her, until Betty stood
among them, half laughing and half crying.

QUITE a crowd of celebrities sailed for
Europe in the Fall.

Hot upon the heels of the Fairbanks-
Pickfords — Mary, Doug, Mrs. Charlotte,
Jack, baby Mary, and the two business
manager-brothers of Doug — went a party
which included such shining lights as Lottie
Pickford, Rubye de Remer, Elliott Dexter,
and Teddy Sampson.

Mr. Dexter is going to travel on the con-
tinent, studying the customs and the lan-
guages of the countries he visits. Don't
stay away too long, Elliott.

BETTY and Gloria Swanson returned
to California on the same train. What a
lovely time the men on that limited must
have had — from the point of view of the
scenery.

BEAUTY • STRENGTH • POWER. • COMFORT

kn*

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The growing preference for closed cars is instantly
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put its traveling range within the scope formerly
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To the woman it brings the realization of soft, har-
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thought of mechanical things. To the man, whose
reason demands technical satisfaction, there is delight
in the knowledge that the Haynes 75 motor with its
larger valves, bows to his will — eager, alert, capable,
with the flexibility and power which come from per-
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It is the car ideal for the woman of many social duties
— the man whose profession requires that he ride
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this Haynes expresses for its owners that discrimina'
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elegance — blended with that judgment which does
not neglect economy.

The other new 1922 Haynes 75 models are: Seven-
passenger Touring Car, $2485 ; four-passenger Tourister,
$2485; two-passenger Special Speedster, $2685; 5-pas-
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Suburban, $3485.

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The Haynes Automobile Company, Kokomo, Indiana
Export Office: 1715 Broadway, New York City, U.S. A.

THE NEW 1922 FIVE PASSENGER, i

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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)

Edith RolcrU, popular Universal Film Starjaoors
Garda Face Powder
Fine in texture, smooth and clinging is Garda Face Powder.
Its fragrance is new and unusual.

ARDA

FACE POWDER.

Garda toilet necessaries — and I 30 other Watk ins products-
are delivered direct to your home, city or country, by over
4.500 Watkins Retailers. Watkins service, and Watkins
Quality (known over 50 years), are responsible for twenty
million satisfied users to-day. If a Watkins Retailer has
not called recently, write us and we will see that you are
supplied.

How to Get a
Sample

Send 2c stamp and receive
a liberal supply of Garda
Face Powder, perfumed
with dainty new Garda
odor; also an attractive
booklet about Garda. the
mysterious spirit of Health
and Beauty.

THE

J. R. WATKINS

COMPANY

Dept. 269
WINONA, MINN.
Est 1868 The Original
36

RUTH TAFT

our beauty expert,
gladly will answer your
questions on beauty
problems. Write to
her care of the J. R.
Watkins Company.

Men and Women
Desirable territories,
city and country, await
responsible men and
worn en. Expe r ience
of more than 4,500
Watkins Retailers
shows opportunity for
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on it by name

PISO'S

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for Coughs and Colds

This syrup is different from all others.
Pleasant — gives quick relief. Contains
no opiates — good for young and old.

35 1 per bottle everywhere

Wonderful New Orange Rouge

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An Orange Rouge which turn9
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d drop in
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^-".',e!,., K0UR LABORATORIES, 2 S. Seelev Ave.. Chicago, HI.

The

Little Colonel" comes back. Henry Walthall has made his first picture
for several years. "Flower of the North." for Vitagraph.

HAROLD LLOYD has also bought a
new-old house, and had it all done
over. He doesn't like these new white
plaster houses that are the rage, at all.

BETTY is telling a story on herself, by
the way — her success not having spoiled
her sense of humor.

At the private showing of "Camille" by
Madame Nazimova at the Ritz in New
York, Miss Blythe was introduced to a
gentleman whose name she didn't catch,
but whom she described as having "The
most fascinating, human, distinguished
face in the world, under lovely white hair."

She leaned over to him in what she
referred to as her best society manner and
murmured, " I do hope you'won't mind — if I
tell you how much you remind me of David
Warfield. You look exactly like him."

The gentleman smiled. "That's strange,
isn't it." he remarked, "but you see I am
David Warfield."

THE way in which Wally Reid has been
spending his three weeks' vacation
between pictures ought to be most definite
refutation of any rumor that there is
domestic difficulty in the star's household.

In the new Reid home is a billiard room
which is exclusively Wally's property. It
was especially designed for him by his wife,
Dorothy Davenport Reid, and is done in
rough stone, painted cement floors and dark
brown walls.

It also contains all the odds and ends of
household furniture which Mrs. Reid
displaced when she bought the new furnish-

ings for her house — their first piano, an
enormous old desk, some wicker chairs,
a table or two and a big old-fashioned
sofa.

So Wallace, who is artistically inclined,
and both draws and paints well, put in his
entire vacation painting the furniture in
the billiard room with his own hands. He
evolved a fascinating color scheme of black
enamel decorated futuristically in red, dull
blue and orange. He has made every
article of furniture match, painting them
solidly black and ornamenting them in the
colors — even to the piano and the cue rack —
and the room is now quite the most effective
thing in the house.

"And now I suppose Dorothy will want
to take it away from me, it's so nice," says
Mr. Reid, plaintively.

BY the way, everybody has been raving
about the marvellous combination that
Bebe and May Allison make when they go
about together, Bebe is so very dark and
flashing, and May, who is exactly the same
height and size, is so blonde and golden and
blue-eyed that it is quite remarkable to see
them standing with their arms about each
other.

MARIE DORO has returned to New
York and the stage.
After a long absence in Italy, where she
made several photoplays, the famous
fragile star is starring in a new play, "Lilies
of the Field," in which she is supported by
Norman Trevor. The play is said to be
very, very naughty. Why, Marie!

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued)

JACKIE COOGAN'S genius, displayed in
•J his remarkable portrayal of "The Kid,"
has admitted him to all circles, however
great and exclusive.

With him, of course, go his mother and
father, Mr. and Mrs. jack Coogan senior,
formerly vaudeville performers.

Recently Jackie was invited to visit
Paderewski at his beautiful almond ranch
near Paso Robles, California. Mr. and Mrs.
Coogan took the child north and they were
all received with great cordiality by the
world-famous pianist and former prime
minister of Poland, and Madame Pader-
ewski.

Luncheon was laid on the lawn under
some stately trees and many delicacies had
been prepared to tempt Jackie's appetite.

But father Coogan reviewed the repast
and said flatly, "No, the boy must have
eggs."

Madame Paderewski was all attention.
"But of course, the dear child," she cried,
"There are fresh ones laid this morning. I
will get them. And that they may be
properly cooked for him, I myself will go to
the kitchen and prepare them."

"That's right, madame," said Coogan
senior, "And I bet you wield a mean
skillet."

HERE'S Santa Ana and our old friend
Judge Cox — the gentleman who sent
Bebe Daniels to jail — bursting into the
limelight again.

Tom Mix was arrested and taken before
him the other day charged with refusing to
stop and render aid after colliding with the
automobile of a prosperous Orange County
farmer.

Tom declares the farmer backed into him
coming out of a driveway and is righteously
irate about it. But he had to tell it to
Judge Cox.

He got off without a sentence.

We hope our stars will learn to stay out
of Orange County.

With Mr. Mix at the time were his wife
and Eva Novak.

MARY PICKFORD has bought back
the film rights to "Tess of the Storm
Country," from Famous Players.

You remember the splendid drama it was
as one of Mary's first great pictures?

We don't see how it can be made any
greater, but apparently Mary does. We are
willing to be shown.

RICHARD A. ROWLAND has resigned
as president of Metro Pictures.

Rowland is one of the great executives of
motion pictures. He ranks with Adolph
Zukor in his genius for organization. Metro
meant Richard Rowland; and his resigna-
tion created quite a stir in the film world.

He went abroad to be present at the
European premiers of "The Four Horsemen
of the Apocalypse." Rowland believed in
this picture, and knew the story would make
a great picture, before anyone else. He
stuck to his belief, and the success of the
Ibanez-Ingram picture has more than justi-
fied his faith in it.

Mr. Rowland will go into business for
himself, according to his own announcement.

POLLY FREDERICK has lost thirty-
eight pounds.
It is vastly becoming and she has
promised to tell us exactly how she did it,
so we'll let you know later.

TOM MOORE and his bride, the pretty
little French actress, Renee Adoree, are
expecting a visit from the stork in the near
future, according to advices from their
Beverly Hills mansion.

The American
Tobacco Company

Will Make This Con-
tract With You.

Walk Into Any Store
In The United States
To-day And Try The
Lord Salisbury
Turkish Cigarette.
Should It Not Ap-
peal To Your Taste
The Clerk Will Hand
You Back Your Money
On The Spot.

It Will Pay You To Try —

Because- It IsThe Only High Grade
Turkish Cigarette In The World
That Sells For So Little Money.

Thus ym^SLyue^^^rutuaiur^^.

Ill Filth Avenue
New York,N.Y

— which means that if you don't like LORD SAUSBUPY
Cigar ettea you can get your money back from the dealer

If It Should Happen That A Dealer
Refuses To Carry Out Our Offer,
Send The Open Package With The
Remaining Cigarettes To The Main
Office Of The American Tobacco
Company, 111 Fifth Avenue, New
York City, With Your Name And
Address Plainly Written And We
Will Send You Our Check For
The Amount You Spent.

Lord Salisbury

TURKISH CIGARETTE

WRAPPED IN AN INEXPENSIVE, MACHINE MADE PAPER
PACKAGE TO KEEP QUALITY UP AND PRICE DOWN.

When you write to advertisers please mention mOTOrLAY MAGAZINE.

"I Knew You'd Make Good

iff ALWAYS felt you had it in you to get
X ahead. But for a time I was afraid
your natural ability would be wasted be-
cause you .ad never trained yourself to
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and master of none.'

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You seemed more ambitious — more cheer-
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I knew that your employers had noticed
the difference in your work.

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means! More money— more comforts —
more of everything worth while. Those
hours you spent with the International
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the best investment you ever made."

HOW about you? Are you always going to work
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Opportunity knocks — this time in the form of that
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Mark and mail it today and without cost or obliga-
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INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS
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Without cost or obligation, please explain how I can
qualify for the position, or In the subject before which
I have marked an X in the list below: —

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D Electric Lighting & Bys.

□ Electric Wiring
_ Telegraph Engineer
J Telephone Work
3 MECHANICAL ENOB.
3 Mechanical Draftsman
3 Machine Shop Practice
3 Toolmaker

3 Oas Engine Operating
3 CIVIL ENGINEEB
3 Surveying and Mapping
3 MINE FOB'N or ENGB.
3 STATIONABY ENGB.
J Marine Engineer
3 ARCHITECT
3 Contractor and Builder

□ Architectural Draftsman

□ Concrete Builder
D Structural Engineer

S PLUMBING & HEAT'G
Sheet Metal Worker

□ Text. Overseer or Supt.

□ CHEMIST
D Pharmacy

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

PURER
THAN

SNOW!

A Censor-Proof
Photodrama

GEORGE RANDOLPH

CHESTER

( Reprinted by courtesy the New York World)
Illustrated by Herb Roth

□ BUSINESS MANAG'M'T

B SALESMANSHIP
ADVERTISING

□ Bailroad Positions

□ ILLUSTRATING

D Show Card & Sign Ptg.

□ Cartooning

□ Private Secretary

Q liusiness Correspondent

□ BOOKKEEPER

D Stenographer & Typist
_ Cert. Pub. Accountant

□ TRAFFIC MANAGER
Q Railway Accountant

□ Commercial Law

□ GOOD ENGLISH

D Com. School Subjects

□ CIVIL SERVICE

□ AUTOMOBILES

D Railway Mail Clerk
Mathematics
Navigation
Agriculture

Poultry D Spanish

Banking I □ Teacher

Name-

Street
and No.

City.

Occupation .

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Sweet hvcy

Pure Paul

1. VILLAGE ROAD BY A CABBAGE
PATCH. FOUR OR FIVE CHURCH
SPIRES IN THE DISTANCE.— A rabbit
hops across the road to the fence, and looks
in at the cabbages.

2. CLOSEUP of Rabbit.— It looks at
the cabbages.

3. CLOSEUP of a Cabbage.— It is a
nice ripe cabbage.

4. CLOSEUP of the Rabbit. It shakes
its head. The cabbages are not its cabbages.
It begins to eat weeds instead, happy be-
cause it has a clean conscience.

5. MEDIUM SHOT OF THE SAME
LOCATION. — Lucy comes into the scene.
She is dressed so as not to reveal any of her
alluring physical attractions, if she has any.
She wears a plain hat, as all good girls
should, carries a flower in one hand and a
hymn book in the other. Her hair hangs
down in front in two long braids, and she
smiles constantly. She is very sweet.

SWEET LUCY.

6. CLOSEUP of Lucy. — She continues
to be very sweet.

7. SAME MEDIUM SHOT— SAME
LOCATION.— Paul comes in from the
opposite direction. He is a lean youth with
spectacles, flag of freedom in one hand and a
hymn book in the other. He has the pale
aenemia of perfect purity. He smiles con-
stantly. He, too, is very sweet.

PURE PAUL.

8. CLOSEUP of Paul.
— He looks at Lucy re-
spectfully. He puts his
hymn book under his arm,
lifts his hat politely
and takes his hymn
book in his hand
again.

9. NEAR SHOT-
SAME LOCATION.
— Pure Paul and
Sweet Lucy look at
each other, but not

long enough to be unduly exciting. Lucy
spies the rabbit. She smiles. She calls
Paul's attention to it. He looks at it. He
smiles.

10. CLOSEUP of the Rabbit.— It is eat-
ing weeds happily. It has a clear conscience.

11. CLOSEUP of Lucy.— She registers:
"OH, SEE THE INNOCENT RABBIT.
DO YOU NOT LOVE INNOCENT RAB-
BITS?"

12. CLOSEUP of Paul.— He says: "I
DO LOVE INNOCENT RABBITS,
SWEET LUCY— AND I ALSO LOVE
YOU!"

13. CLOSEUP of Lucy.— She is shocked.
She draws herself up, smiling sweetly. She
says: " I MUST NOT LISTEN TO YOU,
FOR LOVE AND MARRIAGE LEAD TO
THINGS WHICH WE MUST NOT BE-
LIEVE EXIST."

14. CLOSEUP of Paul— He is pained
by her words. "YOU MISTAKE ME,
LUCY. I LOVE YOU AS I DO THE
DEAR LITTLE BIRDS. NOTHING
MORE, I SWEAR."

15. CLOSEUP of Lucy.— She smiles
sweetly. Heavens, how sweet she is!

16. MEDIUM SHOT— SAME LOCA-
TION.— As Paul and Lucy stand talking a
man with many whiskers slips from behind
an adjacent bush to the cover of a bush still
more adjacent.

THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.

17. CLOSEUP of the Mysterious
Stranger. — He watches Paul
and Lucy and listens eagerly
to what they say.

18. NEAR SHOT—
Paul and Lucy. Lucy is
saying : "YES,
PAUL, YOU
MAY ASK MY
FATHER AND

Pure married life of
Lucy and Paul

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Purer than Snow!

(Continued)

MOTHER AND MY AUNT PRUDENCE
AND MY COUSIN BILL AND THE
MINISTER IF I MAY MARRY YOU,
AND IF THEY SAY 'YES,' I WILL."

Paul registers his pleasure at this reply,
and together they turn and walk side by
side out of the scene, but she does not take
his arm, nor he hers. The Mysterious
Stranger slinks stealthily after them. The
conscientious rabbit continues to eat weeds.

19. THE PARLOR OF LUCY'S
HOME. — Father, Mother, Aunt Prudence
and Cousin Bill and the Minister are in the
parlor drinking water from a water cooler.
This should be a novel scene, and the direc-
tor may work it up for its atmosphere of
peace and purity. Paul and Lucy come into
the scene, and Paul asks manfully if he may
marry Lucy. One look at Paul is enough.
He is pale and pure. They say that Paul
may marry Lucy. Then they call in a
policeman and permit Paul a betrothal kiss
which he imprints on Lucy's forehead for
two feet and three frames, as measured by
the policeman's watch. The Mysterious
Stranger looks through the window.

20. CLOSEUP of the Kiss.— Lucy con-
tinues to smile sweetly, Paul is still pale and
pure, holding his hymn book in one hand
and his flag in the other.

BETROTHED.

21. A PATH IN THE WOODS.— Paul
and Lucy walk side by side. They do not do
anything; they just walk side by side.
There enters into the scene a young woman
who is scarcely able to conceal her shapeli-
ness within her plain dress. Her hair is
curly.

THE VAMP— MIMYE DE JONES.

22. CLOSEUP of the Young Woman-
It is easy to be seen from her closeup that
she is wicked, because she is a beautiful
young woman.

23. MEDIUM SHOT— SAME LOCA-
TION.— The Vamp walks through the
scene. She looks at Paul, but she does
nothing more, for she is not permitted to
roll her eye or, by any accident, reveal
that she has a trim ank1", or offer any
other allurement; because if she did,
it would be cut out anyhow. She merely
walks through. Paul sees her, but does not
look at her. He is above temptation in Iiis
pale purity.

24. NEAR SHOT.— Paul and Lucy
walking through the woods. They do not
do anything except walk through. This is
the photographer's opportunity for some
beautiful scenic backgrounds and light and
shadow effects, before and after Paul and
Lucy walk through.

25. MEDIUM SHOT.— Further along
the path in the woods. There enters a
graceful young man with a mustache and a
coat which fits him in the back. This alone
must stamp him as a Villain, because it is
forbidden for him to smoke a cigarette.

THE VILLAIN— REGINALD VAN PING

26. CLOSEUP of the Young Man-
He looks at Lucy.

27. MEDIUM SHOT.— Lucy sees the
Villain, but he means nothing to her. The
Villain does not do anything. He does not
think anything. He walks on through. He
is hurrying home to lock himself in his room
to drink coffee, which is the only vice left
to him. Lucy and Paul walk on, and the
Mysterious Stranger slinks after them.

28. THE EDGE OF A BROOK.— Lucy
does not lift her skirt even ever so little to
step on the stepping-stone. She lets her
skirt get wet. What is a skirt to flawless
virtue?

tfl(B public confidence in the
purity of all San-Tox prepara-
tions for toilet, health and hygiene
places upon us a responsibility
which we shall always respect.
Only the purest ingredients,
scientifically combined by skilled
chemists, go into the making of
the products which bear the San-
Tox name. You willfind San-Tox
preparations in San-Tox drug
stores only. And for your further
convenience and safeguard you
will find there, also, the Nurse
Brand rubber goods and standard
packaged drugs. The nurse's face
on the packet and in the drug store
window tells you which is San-Tox.

The De Pree Company

Mew Tor k Holland, sJtCich. San Francisco

SAN-TOX FOR PURITY

Every advertisement Id PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine-

Girlfiood.

*^ When your complexion of
after years is determined.

That critical period of youth
between childhood and young
womanhood mars the beauty of
many a complexion. The skin
eruptions of adolescence may leave
permanent blemishes. Cosmetics
can but hide these annoying marks
— pimples, liver-spots, sallowness.
Perfect physical health will pre-
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will instruct their daughters in
the use of a good aperient to keep
the skin fair and the blood clear.

Nature's Remedy (Nl Tablets),
a vegetable aperient, is a real aid
to a beautiful complexion. It acts
naturally to improve the general
health and prevent headaches and
biliousness. It does more than a
laxative.

AH Druggists tell
ihe dainty

25c. Box
of

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Chips off the Old Block

N? JUNIORS - Little N?s

One-third of regular dose.
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For children and adults. Have you tried
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liberal sample in the attractive BLUE and
YELLOW box. A. H LEWIS MEDI-
CINE CO., Dept. PM St. Louis, Mo.

California Bungalow Books

"Home Kraft" and "Draughtsman" each con-
tain Bungalows and Two Stories. "Plan Kraft"
Two Stories. "Kozy Homes" Bungalows. $1.00
each-all four for $3.00. De Luxe Flats $1.00.

DE LUXE BUILDING CO.

524 Union League Bldg., Los Angeles, Calif.

Copy this Sketch

and let me see what you can do
with it. Many cartoonists and illus-
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more per week were trained by my
personal individual lessons by mail.
Landon Picture Charts make orig-
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with 6c in stamps for sample Picture Chart,
lone list of successful students, and ^~&.
evidence of what »o» can accomplish. tT

Please state age. **—&*

THE LANDON SCHOOL
S07 National Bldg., Cleveland, O.

-Advertising Section

Purer Than Snow!

{Concluded)

29. CLOSEUP of the Stepping Stone.—
A snake is coiled there, basking in the sun.
Lucy's foot comes down on the stepping-
stone. We do not show the foot, just
the heel of the shoe and the sole. We may
venture this far, perhaps. The snake springs
up out of the picture. This is our risque
situation. We are to assume that the snake
has bitten Lucy in the ankle, for the heel
and sole lift up quickly out of the picture,
and the snake dangles after it. Then the
snake drops off.

30. AT THE EDGE OF THE BROOK.
—NEAR SHOT.— Lucy jumps back. She
sits on a log. She is frightened, though she
continues to smile sweetly. Paul wants to
know what is the matter. He is frightened
also. She points to the snake. Both look.

31. CLOSEUP of the Snake— It hurries
away in the brook.

32. NEAR SHOT.— LUCY AT THE
EDGE OF THE BROOK.— Lucy is holding
her ankle, but of course through her dress.
The Mysterious Stranger is watching
eagerly from behind a tree. He wears a
fiendish smile. Paul looks down at Lucy.

33. CLOSEUP of Paul.— He is very
much troubled in his mind. He says:
"DO YOU SUPPOSE IT WOULD BE
PERMITTED FOR ME TO SUCK THE
POISON FROM THE WOUND?" He
waits for the answer.

34. CLOSEUP of Lucy.— She is shocked
at the suggestion. She says: "WE COULD
NEVER GET AWAY WITH IT: I MUST
DIE." She leans her head against the tree
behind her and begins to die. THIS IS
OUR BIG PUNCH. THE DIRECTOR
SHOULD PUT THIS THRILL OVER
WITH A WALLOP!

35. CLOSEUP of Paul.— He stands
there watching her die.

36. CLOSEUP— Lucy dying.

37. CLOSEUP— Paul watching her die.

38. CLOSEUP— The Mysterious
Stranger peering from behind a tree.

39. CLOSEUP of Lucy Dying.— She
doesn't! She opens her eyes slowly. She
thinks. She says: "IT MUST HAVE
BEEN A GARTER SNAKE."

40. CLOSEUP of Paul.— He turns stern.
"YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE CALLED
IT BY ITS NAME. COME ON, LET US
GO HOME."

41. NEAR SHOT.— He stands holding
his flag and his book, while Lucy gets up,
and they start home side by side. The
Mysterious Stranger follows them, his face
working convulsively amid his whiskers.

THE WEDDING DAY.

42. CHURCH INTERIOR.— Pure Paul
and Sweet Lucy are being married by the
Minister in the presence of Father, Mother,
Aunt Prudence, Cousin Bill and the neigh-
bors. The director will work up this scenario
and get all the spectacular excitement pos-
sible out of it. The Vamp and the Villain

are in the scene, but they do not do any-
thing. The Minister finishes the ceremony.
Then Father appears with two railroad
tickets in his hand.

43. CLOSEUP of Father.— "HERE
ARE YOUR HONEYMOON TICKETS.
HAVE A GOOD TIME, MY DEAR
CHILDREN, AND HURRY BACK."

44. NEAR SHOT.— Father hands a
ticket to Paul and a ticket to Lucy. Both
smile sweetly.

45. CLOSEUP of Lucy's Ticket— It
reads "To Niagara Falls."

46. CLOSEUP of Paul's Ticket. It
reads "To Old Point Comfort."

47. WIDE ANGLE. — The married
couple start down the aisle to the strains of
the Wedding March.

48. THE CHURCH STEPS.— The Mys-
terious Stranger comes into the scene and
holds out his hand for money. Paul regis-
ters "What for? Who are you?"

49. CLOSEUP of Mysterious Stranger.
He says: "I AM CENSOR BILL, AND
YOU'LL PAY ME WHETHER YOU'VE
DONE ANYTHING WRONG OR NOT."

50. NEAR SHOT.— Paul pays him.
Cousin Bill hands Paul his suitcase. Aunt
Prudence hands Lucy her travelling bag.
Paul starts down the street in one direction,
accompanied by Cousin Bill and Aunt Pru-
dence, and Lucy starts down the street in
the other direction accompanied by Father
and Mother. The Vamp and the Villain
stand in the church door. They turn their
backs on each other. They might have a
good time together, but it would be cut out.

HAPPY AT LAST.

51. The scene fades in on two neat small
cottages side by side with a stone wall be-
tween them. A policeman watches from the
end of the wall, together with a Prohibition
enforcement officer, an anti-tobacco en-
forcement officer, and an anti-tea-and-coffee
enforcement officer and some others. They
all have to be paid, but see how pure we are!
Lucy comes to the wall from her garden
plot. Paul comes to the wall from his gar-
den plot.

52. NEAR SHOT of Lucy and Paul at
the Stone Wall. — Paul registers that it is a
fine evening. Lucy registers also that it is
a fine evening. Paul trades some of his
onions for some of Lucy's radishes.

53. CLOSEUP. — Lucy's Second Story
Window. — Lucy comes into view and pulls
down the shade and lights a light. There is
no silhouette on the window shade.

54. CLOSEUP.— Paul's Second Story
Window. — He pulls down the shade and
lights a light. It does not matter if there is
a silhouette on his window shade or not.

55. LONG SHOT OF THE TWO COT-
TAGES.— The twilight deepens to dark-
ness.

WHAT COULD BE SWEETER?
FADE OUT.

Petrova's Page

(Continued from page 55)

greater than the impression of how little dif-
ference a thousand years or so really makes
in the long order of things, is the impression
of the bull fight.

Now, I know what you are going to say.
You are going to say: "You don't mean to
tell me that you of all people in the world
could witness a bull fight?"

I could and I did; and not only one bull
fight but five; two in Madrid, one at Cor-
dova, one at Sevilla and one at Barcelona.

Cruel? Yes. Life and death are cruel,

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

particularly life, and man crudest of all!
Every country has its particular cruelty
that it regards as "sport " while it shrieks to
heaven of the cruelty of the "sport of its
neighbor."

I was talking with an Englishman at the
corrida of Corpus Christi at Sevilla. He was
furious at the spectacle of the infuriated
beast. "It's cruel," he said, "because the
minute that little gate opens and he rushes
out into the ring, no matter how bravely
fights you know that he is a dead bull."

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Petrova's Page

(Concluded)

I remarked that that was true, hut that a*
the same time the bull did accomplish con-
siderable damage to his persecutors before
he died. (At every bull fight at which I was
present some human was hurt or injured.)

"Now, with fox hunting," I began —

His eyes lighted up. "That's quite dif-
ferent," he told me. "The fox does get a
run for his money."

" He certainly does," I agreed. "He runs
until his heart is twice its normal size and
the blood streaks his eyes. And when he's
run as far as he can, he's a dead fox, isn't
he? He hasn't even had a chance to leave
his mark on any of his well-protected pur-
suers."

"Well, a fox does sometimes get away,"
he put in.

"Yes, and when he gets to earth you dig
him out and start all over again. For my
part I can't see that as sport. It's too one-
sided. All that your fox does get is the run
for his money. Your fox-hunting gentle-
man takes no risks; he exhibits no skill."

In the bull ring everyone, from the pic-
cador to the matador, takes his life in his
hands, each time he goes into the ring.

For the horses I am sad, and yet I think
some of the sorry beasts I saw were better off
at peace and out of their misery. It takes
so little time for a bull to kill a horse and
pulling heavy loads interminably, when age
has long left its mark, is so slow a way to die.

And speaking of living. It brings to my
mind that yesterday as I was driving down
one of the thoroughfares of NewYork, there
was a block in the traffic. Ahead of me
there was a huge truck loaded with little
boxes, crammed with living fowls, on their
way, I suppose, to some butcher's. I
couldn't help thinking that if fowls reason
they must have been impatient for the re-
lease of the butcher's knife.

This digression in the interest of fowls
brings me to a realization that my thousand
words are almost up and I haven't even
started with Spain or a real description of
the corrida.

Well, they must wait for my next letter.

However, before subscribing myself as
"yours affectionately" I might say that
since I came home such minutes as I could
spare from work I have spent at the cinema.

I have seen " Liliom " twice. It is a pecu-
liar hotch-potch that Mr. Molnar had con-
cocted. It seemed to me that the end of the
play undoubtedly came with the refusal of
the carpenter who was a "lovely gentleman
writh lots of hair" as the old lady said, by
Eva le Gallienne.

The play is fortunate in Miss le Gallienne ;
surely one of the most sincere and gifted
players that it has ever been my good for-
tune to see. Mr. Schildkraut as Liliom is
handsome (Oh, very!), but was there ever
really such a person as Liliom outside Mr.
Schildkraut's conception of him?

I saw Constance Talmadge in "Wedding
Bells." She is one of my favorite screen
artists. (I am not speaking of her plays, but
of her.) The greatest impression that I had
of "Wedding Bells" was that if Miss Tal-
madge had been one whit less beautiful, the
photographer would have successfully re-
moved any evidence of all the other whits.

"The Great Moment" cost me $2.50 — in
two seats. I wouldn't mind that, mind you,
if I'd had it — I mean the Great Moment.

Space, inexorable space, is up!

Until next month, Jeanette cherie —

//.s.ar.^jP^j^.^w^

And the same rich scents
you may enjoy tonight

EVERYWHERE in Burma tonight
little fires are being lighted and,
in each home, a little Burmese lady is
sprinkling sweet powders over a live
and glowing coal.

All through India, up through China

— in fact, through all the length and
breadth of the Eastern world, millions
of people ar: happier and more rested
because faint wisps of incense are
rising in their homes.

Vantine's —
the true Temple Incense

And because of Vantine's, the same
delicate scents of the Orient may
arise tonight in. your home to
delight you — to refresh you — to
enchant you.

Vantine's Temple Incense
is the name to think of.
The druggist, the gift shop
and the department store
are your sources of supply

— for all over the country

All the sweet deli-
cacy of Wistaria Blos-
soms is imprisoned in
Vantine's Wistaria
Toilet Water.

these are the stations where
you may get the true
Oriental incense — the incense which
the East uses and Vantine's have im-
ported for years.

Which do you think
you prefer?

It comes in five delicate fragrances —
Sandalwood, Wistaria, Rose, Violet
and Pine. Some like the rich Oriental
fulness of Sandalwood, others choose
the sweetness of Wistaria, Rose or
Violet, and still others prefer the clear

and balmy fragrance of Pine.

Try tonight, the fragrance which

you think you pref.r. Most shops

have it waiting for you.

But if your shop does not,
just name that fragrance
as suggested below, and
we shall be glad to send
it as your first acquain-
tance package.

Vantine's Temple Incense is sold at druggists, department stores and
gift shops in two forms — powder and cones — in J packages — 2$c, 5 Of and Jt,c

\ble Incense

Rose

Sandalwood

Violet

Wistaria

Pine

If you will send 25c to A. A.
Vantine & Co.. 64 Hunterspoint
Avenue.Long Island City.N.Y.,
and name the fragrance you
prefer, we will be glad to send
you an Introductory Package.

When you write to advertisers please mention PITOTOPLAY MAGAZINE,

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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DEPARTMENT

^V Face Powder" ^i

When Grandmother was a girl, she
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these years, it has remained steadfast-
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MISS VAN WYCK SAYS:

In this department, Miss Van Wyck will answer all personal problems
referred to her. If stamped, addressed envelope is enclosed, your questions
will be answered by mail. This department is supplementary to the fashion
pages conducted by MissVanWyck, to be found this issue on pages 32 and 33.

PATRICIA LYLE, London.— I ap-
preciate very much your writing to
me all the way from Britain. About
your hair: don't, please, be afraid
to wash it once a week, or even more.
There is an old-fashioned idea that hair
should not be shampooed more often than
once a month. That, I think, is perfectly
absurd. It is*like the old jokes about the
Saturday night bath! Wash your hair
just as you wash your face: when it is dirty
— and sometimes when it is not. If you
use a good shampoo, and use it regularly,
your hair will not become hard and brittle.
If you will write again I will answer you
in more detail.

Helen S., Indianapolis. — Thank you
for your encouragement. It is so good to
know that one's efforts have been appre-
ciated. I am glad you liked my answer
to your letter, and hope I can always
help you. The only way one can have nice
nails is to keep right on taking good care
of them. Use a good preparation — there
is none better than Cutex, which I myself
have always used — and use it every day.
Type-writing, it is true, works havoc on
beautiful long nails; but the solution of this
is: do not let your nails grow too long.
They are not particularly smart, and they
are certainly not practical. Please write
again.

Mrs. W. G., Oakland, Cal. — Your
gracious letter confirms my belief that a
mother, more than anyone, knows what her
young daughter should wear. I am indeed
grateful, however, for your charming letter;
and only wish I could have helped you
much more.

Robert G. W., Owosso, Mich. — You
are entirely right in advising your friend
not to cut her nice curly hair. You may
tell her that Carolyn Van Wyck says if
she had such beautiful curls she would
most assuredly not bob them. You are
a very sensible young man; and I should
like to hear from you as to whether our
combined advice helps.

Catherine S., Pen Mar, Pa. — Please
do not let anyone tell you that middy
blouses are not just the thing for a sixteen-
year-old girl. They are the most charming
and practical of all costumes. And you
are so sweet and sensible yourself that I
wish I could write to your mother and tell
her so. She should be very proud of a
daughter who is wise enough to realize
that hair-down and middies are the thing.
You can wear red very well; in fact, any
bright color. Do call on me again.

Miss Billie H., Alton, III. — You wish
me to advise you what a fifteen-year-old
girl should wear to an evening dance. I
confess my surprise that a fifteen-year-old
should be attending a dance. However,
if you are going, you should wear a very
simple little gown of taffeta or radium silk,
of pink or white or blue. This should be
made with a girlish round neck, short
sleeves, and, if you like them, ruffles. The
dresses are longer now, and yours should
not be very short, even if you do like them
that way. With this dress, if it is blue or
pink, wear pink or blue stockings and silver
slippers, or slippers of satin to match the

dress. If it is white, wear white satin or
kid slippers and hose. For your hair,
wear a band of silver ribbon or satin
flowers.

Frances Kimmear, Geneva, Ohio. —
I should say that you have a great deal of
personality. You should wear any of the
brighter colors, avoiding blue or brown. I
would buy a sports coat of camels-hair
instead of a fur-trimmed coat for school-
wear. The two-strap pumps are still very
good, but if I were you I would wear brown
oxfords for school. You say you like to
wear plain dresses of good material and
mode. You should follow your inclina-
tions.

Mae V., Paterson, N. J. — For an after-
noon affair, you should wear a frock of
taffeta or crepe. A dark blue taffeta dress
with a bouffant skirt would look very well
with your blonde hair and fair skin.

Marie, Ohio.— If your hair is straight,
I would advise against bobbing it. There
are only a few girls who look well with
straight bobbed hair. And I should hate
to see you curl it. It's a great nuisance,
besides being injurious to the hair. Wear
the "baby French heels" rather than the
very high ones.

Marietta, New York. — Why not send
two dollars and fifty cents to Bourjois and
Co., Inc., 35 West 34th Street, N. Y. C,
for their "beauty assortment?" It in-
cludes all the things you mention that you
need: face powder, lip stick, eyebrow pencil,
rouge, powder puff, buttermilk soap, naii
polish, etc. If you have a pale complexion,
use rouge by all means. The correct use
of rouge for women who really need it I
highly recommend. It is the abuse of
cosmetics that injures their reputations.

Mary H., Chicago, III. — I know just
what you should have. You say that you
like perfume but that when you use some
and go out iri the afternoon the scent is
gone. "Flaconettes" solve your problem.
They are little vials containing almost any
of the favorite perfumes, all very good.
Put one in your bag, and you can always
have a drop of perfume with you.

Jane, Lima, Ohio. — If your mother
doesn't want you to use rouge for a year or
two yet — and you only seventeen — by all
means obey her. There will be time
enough when you will have to use all the
cosmetics; but a youthful complexion
should not use them. Powder, I believe
in. A shiny face, no matter how young,
is not a pretty thing to see.

Helen, Montreal. — I think I know
what is the matter with you. You say
you haven't an ugly face, that your hair
is pretty, that your complexion is pink and
white, but that no one has ever called you
attractive. Are you sure that you walk
right? Do you carry yourself well, or do
you mince along with your head down?
Remember this: a good carriage is more
important than almost anything else.
Alice Roosevelt became famous because of
her marvellous poise, her superb carriage.
Try emulating Alice. /

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Public Rights
League

THE logical theory that the rights of
the motion picture industry are iden-
tical with the rights of the public is
the basis of a movement which has been
carried into successful operation by Martin
J. Quigley in his publication, "Exhibitors
Herald," one of the leading trade journals.
The vehicle of the movement is termed
The Public Rights League. The league
is conducted under the auspices of the
Quigley publication and since its inception,
four months ago, has attained a member-
ship of two thousand motion picture
theater owners throughout the United
States whose alliance with the league is
prompted by their desire to afford to their
public, via their screens, a true under-
standing of the facts relative to censorship,
the Blue Law agitation and kindred mani-
festations of radical reformers' efforts to
curb and harass the motion picture and
in turn the motion picture public.

The exhibitor-members are pledged to
watchfulness to the end that no neglect on
their part shall offer comfort to radical
reformers who seek to inhibit and restrict
the natural development of the motion
picture into a greater and still greater
force of entertainment and education.
The members' aim, through the medium
of their screens, is to keep the public
apprised of the latest facts and arguments
bearing upon the issues.

To this end there is supplied weekly in
the columns of "Exhibitors Herald" a
brief, pointed message of fact or argument
which is reproduced upon the screens of
the exhibitor-members. A specimen of
these messages — which may already have
beamed upon you in your theater in the
midst of a group of "Coming Attractions"
announcements — is the following: "The
motion picture is a development of the
printing press, publishing in pictures
instead of in type, and as such is entitled
to the same Constitutional guarantees of
freedom that are accorded the Press."

A recent announcement is that Marshall
Neilan will produce, especially for the
League, and consequently only to be
shown in theaters of members, a propa-
ganda film treating in an Neilanesque
manner with the issues of censorship and
Blue Sunday legislation. This film, to-
gether with all the other material of the
Public Rights League, is available gratis
to theaters. If your theater is not a
member, a casual "Why?" would be doing
your constructive bit in aiding a worthy
movement.

The Golden Goose

INSTEAD of S7.500, the New York State
1 censors are really receiving §10,000 a
year. They are the highest paid members of
any similar body in the United States. By
remaining away from Albany, where the
law specifies the principal office of the com-
mission shall be located, and where there is
not even so much as a single desk, the cen-
sors can charge up expenses not to exceed
$7 a day.

And this means for a seven-day week, or
in other words, the commissioners are taking
care of themselves to the extent of about
$50 weekly.

Not satisfied with this, censors who ha\'e
visited their homes in distant parts of the
state, have set up a hue and cry because the
state is not magnanimous enough to pay
their railroad fare, Pullmans and meals en
route, even though they might be returning
home on personal business. It's a tough
life!— M. P. World.

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Teeth are unclean

Teeth brushed in old ways are dan-
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So dental science has for years sought
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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Name

Street
Address.

City

Stale.

And still Edna Williams declares her greatest
ambition is to own a ranch and raise vegetables.

^ /

The Film's First Woman
Executive

A former song writer helps guide
the destiny of a four million dollar
motion picture organization.

EDNA WILLIAMS set out for New
York from her Los Angeles home
when she was only twenty to sell her
songs to music publishers.
After weeks of discouragement she sold a
song, "If the Wind Had Only Blown the
Other Way." The music publishing house
engaged her. By the end of her first year
with the firm she was put in charge of the
professional song department. At the end
of five years she was placed in charge of all
the business of her publishers.

The motion picture industry was then
just putting forth its first bid for attention
in America. But Miss Williams saw that
this was to develop into one of the world's
biggest industries, and, with more and more
companies springing up and more and more
people demanding to see the pictures, the
principal need would be good stories. She

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

quit the musical publishing firm where she
had been for ten years lo become a broker
for motion picture manufacturers.

When she was just on the eve of departure
for a business trip to Australia she met R.
S. Cole of the exporting firm of Robertson-
Cole Co. A request for an American
picture had just come in from one of their
London customers and in negotiating the
rights Mr. Cole came in contact with Miss
Williams. He put her in charge of a depart-
ment of distribution. The office force con-
sisted of herself and a stenographer.

Today she is an important executive of
the same concern, which was recently
capitalized for four million dollars.

And yet when you ask this successful
business woman what her greatest ambition
is she naively replies: "To own a ranch in
California and raise vegetables!"

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Plays and Players

(Continued jrom page 87)

AFTER going without food for nearly
three days and suffering the exposure of
a small open boat on the high seas all that
time, Harry Carey, the western thriller, his
wife, Mrs. Olive Carey, Miss Mignonne
Golden, Mrs. Carey's sister and Joe Harris,
also motion picture people, were rescued
near San Clemente Island.

The party were picked up by a launch at
the same time that the navy officials at San
Pedro, notified by the Universal Film Com-
pany that the star was missing, had begun a
search for them.

Carey and his party were on a fishing trip.
When far out at sea the rudder of their sail-
boat broke and they drifted about help-
lessly, their frantic signals for distress ig-
nored by passing boats who thought they
were merely being friendly.

Mrs. Carey suffered greatly from the
exposure and discomfort, but the cowboy
actor has shown no ill effects.

THE Cocoanut Grove at the Ambassador
in Los Angeles is the scene of a great
deal of movie entertaining these days.

Sid Grauman, owner of one of the largest
theaters in Los Angeles, entertained there
the other evening with a dinner party that
from a distance certainly looked happy and
delicious in the extreme. Among the guests
were Mr. and Mrs. Allen Holubar (Dorothy
Phillips) who wore spangled black and a
transparent black net hat that acted as an
enticing frame for her pretty face; Harold
Lloyd and Mildred Davis, in a dainty little-
girl frock of white; Walter Morosco, son of
Oliver Morosco the producer, and Betty
Compson. Betty wore delicate gray and
ermine and a huge corsage of orchids. This
was only one of the times when people
whispered that Miss Compson and young
Morosco are or are about to be engaged.
The orchids certainly looked suspicious.

Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Meighan also had
a party that night, which included May
McAvoy and Eddie Sutherland. Young
Sutherland is Tommie's nephew, you know,
and he is being very attentive to the beau-
tiful May.

MARY JOHANNA DESMOND has
been properly christened.

The occasion was one of the social
events of the season.

Her mother and father — Mr. and Mrs.
William Desmond — invited some of the
close family friends to their Hollywood
home on Sunday afternoon, and there in
the beautiful drawing room, Miss Desmond
was ceremoniously baptized — the affair
going off as directed except that the young
lady, now a year old, spilled the baptismal
fount on the dignified Episcopal clergyman.

Bill Hart was Mary Johanna's godfather,
and it must be admitted that Bill's hands
trembled as they held Mary Johanna and
a prayer book in a fashion they never
exhibited in any two gun proceedings he
ever was mixed up in. Mr. and Mrs.
Wallace Reid and William Wallace Jr. were
also present.

THE Los Angeles Times reports this:
Two extras, during the production of
"The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam."

Extra: "What's the name of this picture
we are playing in?"

Super: "Something about a cigarette."

Extra: "Oh, yes — Omar."

Super: "That's it. Omar, the Ruby Cat."

ALMA RUBENS, the beautiful brunette,
who hasn't made a picture for some
months, has signed a contract with Cosmo-
politan. Her first picture is "Find the
Woman."

Her first story was bought by
D. W. Griffith

And she won the first cash prize of $2,500 in the J.
Parker Reade contest against a field of 10,000 scenarios

Frances White Elijah learned
how to transfer her natural story
telling gift to the screen. Will you
send for a free test of your ability?

When Frances White Elijah was doing
war work in her Chicago home, she never
imagined she would become a successful
photoplaywright.

What reason had she to think she would
ever write such a letter as this to the
Palmer Photoplay Corporation:

" / have just received your check in pay-
ment for my dory 'Wagered Love.'
which your sales department sold to
D. W. Griffith.

" TV has scarcely been six months since I
registered with you and your assistance
and encouragement have made my suc-
cess seem like magic."
Think what that means! Her first story
sold to one of the most discriminating pro-
ducers in the world. And she had only
started to train her story-telling gift six
months before!

Stimulated by her brilliant success, this
Chicago girl developed herself into a pro-
fessional screen writer for a great Los
Angeles studio. Today she enjoys fame
and income; and the distinction of having
written the best of 10,000 scenarios sub-
mitted in the J. Parker Reade contest.

What doos this story mean to you? If it causes
you to ask yourself "Could / sell a story to Griffith —
or Ince — or any of the producers?." this will prove
the most interesting advertisement you ever read.

Perhaps you could do that very thing

At the outset, let us correct one false notion many
people have. Literary skill, or the writing style
required for novel and magazine authorship, cannot
be transferred to the screen. The one and only
requisite of photoplay writing is ability to think out
and tell a good, dramatic story. Given that ability.
any man 0- woman can be t-ained to write for the screen.

But, you say, how can I know whether I have
that ability?

To answer that question is the purpose of this
advertisement. The Palmer Photoplay Corporation
will gladly apply to you a scientific test of story-
telling ability, provided you are an adult and in
earnest. And we shall do it free.

Send for the Van Loan questionnaire

The test is a questionnaire prepared for the Palmer
Photoplay Corporation by H. H. Van Loan, the

celebrated photoplaywright. and Prof. Malcolm
MaoLean, former teacher of short story writing at
Northwestern University. If you have any story
telling instinct, if you have ever said to yourself
when you left a motion picture theatre: "I believe I
could write as good a screen-story as that." send for
this questionnaire and find out for yourself just how
much talent you have.

We shall be frank with you; have no fear. The
Palmer Photoplay Corporation exists first of all to
sell photoplays. It trains photoplay writers in order
that it may have more photoplays to sell. It holds
out no false promise to those who can never succeed.

With the active aid and encouragement of the
leading producers, the Corporation is literally comb-
ing the country for new screen writers. Its Depart-
ment of Education was organized to develop the
writers who can produce the stories. The Palmer
institution is the industry's accredited agent for
getting the stories without which production of
motion pictures cannot go on. Producers gladly pay
from $500 to $2,000 for acceptable stories.

We invite you to apply this free test

Clip the coupon below, and we will send you the
Van Loan questionnaire. You assume no obligation,
but you will be asked to be prompt in returning the
completed lest for examination. If you pass the
test, we shall send you interesting material descrip-
tive of the Palmer Course and Service, and admit you
to enrollment, should you choose to develop your
talent. If you cannot pass this test, we shall frankly
advise you to give up the idea of writing for the
screen. It will be a waste of their time and ours for
children to apply.

This questionnaire will take only a little of your
time. Ft may mean fame and fortune to you. In
any event it will satisfy you as to whether or not you
should attempt to enter this fascinating and highly
profitable field. Just use the coupon below — and do
it now before you forget.

Sample copy of the Photodramatist, official organ
of the Screen Writers' Guild of the Author's
League, the national pholoplaywrights maga-
zine, will be sent free with the questionnaire.

Thomas H. Ince
Thos. H. Ince
Studios.

Cecil B. De
Mille

Director Gen-
eral Famous
Players - Lasky
Corp.

Lois Weber
Lois II eber
Productions.
Inc.

Advisory Council

Jesse L. Lasky
Vice-President
Famous Players-
Lasky Corp.

C. Gardner Sul-
livan Author
and Producer.

Frank E. Woods
Chief Supervis-
ing Director
Famous Players-
Lasky Corp.

James R. Quirk
Kditor and
Publisher
Photoplay
Magazine.

Allan Dwan
A I la ti Dira n
Productions.

Bob waoner

Author and
Screen Au-
thority.

PALMER PHOTOPLAY Corporation, Dept. of Education, P12

124 West 4th St., Los Angeles, Cal.

Please send me. without cost
or obligation on ray part, your
questionnaire. I will answer
the questions in it and return
it t» you for analysis. If I pass
the test. I am to receive fur-
ther information about your
Course and Service. Also send
free sample copy of the Photo-
dramatist.

Name.

Address

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Plays and Players

{Concluded)

MAY ALLISON, the beautiful blonde
star who recently referred to herself as
the "girl without a romance," handed
Hollywood an awful jolt the other day when
she revealed two secret marriages in two
years and produced a handsome young hus-
band with whom she is now happily honey-
mooning in Beverly Hills.

The bare announcement is something like
this: Mary Allison and Robert du Reel Ellis,
well known director and leading man, were
married something over a year ago, on
Thanksgiving Day, 1920, at Greenwich
Connecticut, with Robert Vignola and
Ethel Clayton acting as best man and
bridesmaid.

But the whole story is too delightful to
keep — especially since Miss Allison has
never been in the limelight before and the
plot is one that will make any writer of
romantic novels tear his hair out in handfuls.

Two weeks ago a check forger and nar-
cotic user named Lhyne was arrested at the
Santa Ana jail. In his cell, he proudly de-
clared that he was May Allison's husband.
The reporters laughed and he said, "Well, if
you don't believe me, look at the records."

It was pure bluff but —

They looked. And they found that in
November, 1919, a license was issued to
May Allison and Colonel William Stephen-
son, U. S. A. That further, the ceremony
was performed by a local minister in the
presence of Mrs. Maude Lathan, who is
Miss Allison's sister and secretary.

When this condition of affairs was pre-
sented to Miss Allison, she admitted her
marriage at that time to Colonel Stephen-
son— who by the way is one of the richest
and most eligible men in the army — but
further stated that the marriage had been
annulled in San Francisco a few months
later.

The truth of the matter was that the
Colonel, who met Miss Allison at a dinner
party given by Admiral Hugh Rodman, fell
madly in love with her and began a whirl-
wind wooing.

At that time, Miss Allison had just quar-
reled with and broken her engagement to
Bob Ellis. So finally the Colonel persuaded
her with the assistance of her family, who

have never wholly enjoyed Miss Allison's
picture career, to marry him, on the
promise that it need not be announced or
culminated until she was ready to give up
her work and settle down as a rich society
leader.

They parted at the altar, and immediately
Miss Allison felt that she had made a mis-
take. She begged Colonel Stephenson,
whom she describes as a fine gentleman and
a splendid man, to give her her freedom and
the annulment was obtained in San Fran-
cisco.

Having cleared up this point, Miss Allison
and her sister and a friend journeyed to the
Santa Ana county jail where the screen star
confronted the claimant to her hand. When
he failed to recognize her, she felt that
ended that angle of the matter.

But matters having gone this far, with
one husband disposed of and one false
claimant squelched, Miss Allison decided to
reveal the true state of her matrimonial
affairs.

It was then she announced that after her
annulment from Colonel Stephenson, she
and Bob Ellis "made up" and were mar-
ried— the marriage was persistently rumored
some time ago — and that her husband was
on his way to join her here. Only her
family and a few intimate friends knew that
she was actually Mrs. Ellis.

"We kept the marriage secret for two rea-
sons," said the latest star-bride, "I had to
return west to finish my contract with
Metro. Mr. Ellis had to stay in New York
to complete his with Selznick. My mother,
who is very delicate, did not wish me to
marry at that time, especially since profes-
sional reasons made it impossible for us to
live together. She is very old-fashioned
and believes in husbands and wives living
together. So do I. If this hadn't come out,
Bob and I would have been re-married in
Los Angeles and announced it in that way."

So now Mr. and Mrs. Ellis are enjoying a
blissful honeymoon and receiving the con-
gratulation and gifts of their many friends,
for May Allison is one of the most loved
girls in motion pictures — and having been
rather a spoiled pet, every one is amazed at
this romantic revelation.

Statement of Ownership, Management, Circulation, etc., Required by
the Act of Congress of August 24, 191 2.

of Photoplay Magazine Published monthly at Chicago, Illinois for October 1, 1921

State ct Illinois ]

I ss.
County of Cook J

Before me, a Notary Public, in and for the State anil county aforesaid, personally appeared Edwin M.
Colvin. who, having been duly sworn according to law, deposes and says that he is the President of the Photo-
play Magazine, and that the following is. to the best of his knowledge and belief, a true statement of the
ownership management (and if a daily paper, the circulation), etc., of the aforesaid publication for the date
shown in the above caption, required by the Act of August 24, 1912, embodied in section 443, Postal Laws and
Regulations printed on the reverse of this form, to wit: 1. That the names and addresses of the publisher,
editor managing editor, and business managers are: Publisher, Photoplay Publishing Co., 3o0 N. Claris
Street Editor James R. Quirk, 350 N. Clark Street. Managing Editor, none. Business Manager, James
R Quirk 350 N Clark Street. 2. That the owners are: (Give names and addresses of individual owners,
or' if a corporation, give its name and the names and addresses of stockholders owning or holding 1 per cent
t-r more of the total amount of stock.) E. M. Colvin, Chicago, 111. ; R. M. Eastman, Chicago, 111. ; J. B- Quirk.
Chicago 111 : J. Hodgkins. Chicago, 111.; Wilbert Shallenberger, Waterloo, Iowa; Photoplay Publishing Co
Chicago' 111 3. That the known bondholders, mortgagees, and other security holders owning or holding 1
per cent or more of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities are: (If there are none, so state)
None 4 That the two paragraphs next above, giving the names of the owners, stockholders, and security
holders, if any, contain not only the list of stockholders and security holders .as they appear upen the books of the
company but also, in cases where the stockholder or security holder appears upon the books of the company as
trustee or in any other fiduciary relation, the name of the person or corporation for whom such tee is acting

!i tcTthe &^ anil' S3JET& *S?J2S& - ^ SH^ K

^ er^/tn- 3BHM M."* ££ ^SSSffSS^VsH^ X

interest direct or indirect * the. said stoefc^bonto »J^J^^MlSl^Xt& mails or otherwise,

the date shown aliove is (This niforma-

•t or indirect f* the said stock, bonds,
avera-e number cf copies of each issue of this publication
to paid subscribers during the six months preceding
tion is required from daily publications only.)

E. M. COLVIN,

President.

Sworn to and subscribed before me this 1st day of October, 1
[SEAL]

KATIIRYN DOUGHERTY.
(My commission expires October 18, 1924.)

Every advertisement in rHOTOrLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

New Faces for Old

{Concluded from page 47)
implies something else than mere prettiness
or perfection of features — and who comes
within her sight will have a chance to be-
come one of the New Faces of the Screen.

When I was recently in California, I did
nothing for a month but interview possi-
bilities. I did this with Rupert Hughes, for
whose screen judgment I have the highest
regard. We interviewed over a thousand
men and women and out of the lot found
three who were what we wanted — who had
personalities which stood camera-hostility
and who will prove, I believe (and they
have little or no experience), a real talent for
new expressions in the films. But three out
of a thousand — the percentage is not high!
In the very nature of things, it could not be;
but with enough persistence, enough will be
achieved.

The motion picture today is young; but
to a generation which has grown up with its
minor heroes and heroines, it has a false
appearance of staleness. It will soon change
this; its need is New Faces, and it will get
this fuel, use it up and then? New fuel will
be needed, and found; the problem will be
different, but it will be met. The future
will take care of itself so long as we take
care of the spiritual needs of the day. And
the spirit of life is — healthily enough —
Change. The old faces may stay on but the
New Faces must come.

The Story of Strongheart

{Continued from page 48)
obedience, because if you don't obey, we
will all get hurt. I know this business and
you don't. You are going to make a motion
picture for Mrs. Murfin and me, and you
must understand that I always know exactly
what I am doing, and you must do what I
tell you. It will be all right. Do you under-
stand me, Etzel?"

The dog, who had been paying close atten-
tion, barked, wagged his tail and jumped
about to show that he understood. And in
the days that followed the dog had to use
his head more than ever he had at the front.

Part of the picture was taken up in the
mountains. The story, you may remember
reading it in the Saturday Evening Post,
was that of a dog that was half wolf, a quar-
ter dog, and a quarter coyote. "The Cross
Pull, " as it was called then, it has since been
renamed "The Silent Call" — was the strug-
gle between his wild and his tame instincts.
He saved a girl, killed the man who attacked
her, and brought her and her lover together.

And in taking the picture, Mr. Trimble,
who was directing, had to rehearse the man
and the woman more than he did the dog.
For Etzel had by this time learned the habit
of strict obedience.

Up in the mountains the dog was sup-
posed to have mated with the wolf. They
brought the wolf down, a real wild she-wolf,
witli ropes on her hind legs. She was
ferocious and mean, but Larry Trimble
made her owner set her free. He said,
"The dog will take care of her." And he
did. The wolf, strangely enough, formed an
attachment for Etzel. She would follow
him around devotedly, but except in a pic-
ture as he was directed he had no use for
her.

It seems as though Etzel was a born actor,
for, when, in the picture, they blew up a
cave in which puppies — the make-believe
puppies of the dog and the wolf — were sup-
posed to be concealed, things happened.

Etzel, the supposed father of the puppies,
returned with a duck in his mouth to feed
the little ones. When he saw the depth of
debris which cut off the cave's only entrance,
he dropped the duck; he sat down and

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The Story of Strongheart

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( Concluded)

cried with an apparent depth of suffering
that only a human is supposed to be capa-
ble of.

Once, later, Larry Trimble told Ince that
he could tell the dog to go and then tell
him to stop, and he would stop within an
inch of the man's throat. Ince doubted the
statement. Larry Trimble waited until
Ince turned a little away. "Go," he said.
The dog fairly flew at the man. Ince turned
white. " Down, " ordered Trimble, and the
dog dropped to the floor.

If Larry Trimble speaks in a whisper — he
never speaks loudly to the dog— Etzel,
though he may be in the next room, will make
every effort to come to him. If the door is
closed he will create a disturbance that will

assure his reaching his beloved master.

But to finish the picture. Dyer — the man
whom the dog is supposed toattack and kill-
was nervous at first because of the ferocious
appearance of the dog. He was sOon re-
assured, however. Etzel would seize a
mouthful of clothes and flesh in his strong
teeth and never once tore until his teeth had
slipped back so that they gripped only
clothes.

At the end of the scene Etzel jumped from
a high cliff and finished the supposed killing
in the water.

"The Silent Call" may be a great picture,
but no matter how great it is, it cannot be
so great as the silent pull that exists between
the man and Etzel.

•rur

Jquirn

A.GNUTT

MY DEAR, I just visited a fortune teller and
she told me where to find mv future hus-
band."

"Give me her address. Maybe I'll be
able to find my present one."

— Hojas Selectas (Barcelona) .

YOU say that pretty stenographer of yours is
bright?" asked the man of the lawyer.
"Very bright," replied the legal light.
" Been with you five years, you say?"
"Just five years; yes."
"Has she learned any law in that time?"
"Oh, I don't know as to that. She hasn't begun to
sue me yet!" — Yonkers Statesman.

TWO powerful colored stevedores, who had had
some sort of falling out, were engaged in unloading
a vessel at a St. Louis dock. Uncomplimentary re-
marks and warnings of intended violence were ex-
changed whenever the two passed each other with
their trucks.

"You just keep on pesticatin' around wid me," de-
clared one of the men, "an' you is gwine be able to
settle a mighty big question for de sciumtific folks!"

"What question dat?" asked the other.

"Kin de dead speak!" — Harper's.

SENTRY— Who goes there?
Lieutenant — I have answered "Friend" once.
Don't you know the rules?

Sentry — Yes. I have to call "Who goes there"
three times and then shootl — Klods Hans (Copen-
hagen).

THE futility of riches is taught in the Scriptures and
the income tax blank. — Muskogee Chronicle.

YOU don't deny that you were exceeding the
speed limit?"
" No, your honor."
"Have you a valid excuse to offer?"
" Not a valid one, I'm afraid," replied the motorist,
dreamily, "but you ought to see the girl who asked
me to 'step on the gas.' " — Birmingham Age-Herald.

WHEN Prof. Walter Raleigh was asked to lecture
at Princeton College, Professor Root went down
to the station to meet the distinguished visitor. Pro-
fessor Root did not know Professor Raleigh, but
walking up to a man who he thought looked like him,
he said: "I beg your pardon, but am I addressing
Walter Raleigh? " The man looked at him a moment
and, thinking he must be mad, replied: "No, I am
Christopher Columbus. Walter Raleigh is in the
smoking-room with Queen Elizabeth."

"TJOKE had a funny experience the other day."
*1 "How come?"

"He was in a place having a drink and when he
turned around the bartender was wearing a blue
coat with brass buttons." — New York Sun.

" I'VE lost my wife." exclaimed an excited male
* shopper in a department store. "She was right

here beside me a moment ago, and now I can't find

her."

"Bargains in skirts two aisles to your left, said

the floorwalker tersely.

THE real objection to a butter-knife is that it isn't
sharp enough in winter and isn't enough like a
spoon in summer. — Vlica Morning Telegram.

TS this a fast train?" the salesman asked the
* conductor.

"Of course it is," was the reply.
"I thought it was. Would you mind my getting
out to see what it is fast to? " — Sonora Bell.

DEFORE steel pens were invented the pinions o"
*-* one goose were often used to snread the oninions
of another. — Detroit News.

JUDGE: You have been found guilty of petty lar-
ceny. What do you want, ten days or ten dollars?
Guilty Party: I'll take the money. — Denison
Flamingo.

" AND would you love me as much if father lost all

f* his money?"

"Has he?"

"Why, no."

"Of course I would, darling." — The Bulletin
(Sydney).

SEDENTARY work," said the college lecturer,
"tends to lessen the endurance."
" In other words," butted in the smart student,
"the more one sits, the less one can stand."

"Exactly," retorted the lecturer, "and if one lies a
great deal, one'sstanding is lost completely." — Journal
of the American Medical Association.

MISS TIDDLES, will you marry me? I would
gladly die for you," offered the wealthy but
need suitor.

"How soon?" queried that practical twentieth-
century maid. — Berkeley Gazelle.

IF you want to get rich from writing, write the sort
of thing that is read by persons who move their
lips when they are reading to themselves.

— Don Marquis, in New York Sun.

IT was visiting-day at the jail and the uplifters were
on deck.

"My good man," said one kindly lady, ' I hope
that since you have come here you have had time for
meditation and have decided to correct your faults."
"I have that, mum," replied the prisoner in heart-
felt tones. "Believe me, the next job I pull, this
baby wears gloves." — The American Legion Weekly.

FRIEND: "That movie actor is very pompous.
He boasts that he has arrived."
Director: "He has. This is where he gets off.' —
Boston Transcript.

CONTRIB: "You sit down on even' joke I write."
Ed: "Well, I wouldn't if there was any point
to them." — The Christian Advocate (New York).

LITTLE Eleanor gazed long and thoughtfully at
the young man who was calling on her grown-up
sister, Kate. "May I climb up on your knee, Mr.
Browne?" .... ,

"Yes, of course, dear, smiled the young man who
wanted to make a hit with the family. " Want to pull
my hair — eh?"

"No; I want to see if I can find that word.

"Word? What word?" asked the puzzled visitor.

"I heard our Kate sav this morning that if ever a
man had the word 'idiot' written all over his face it
was you."— Toronto Telegram.

SOME astronomical fakir is out with a dastardly
attempt to show that the center of the universe is
about 4.000,000.000 miles from the Boston State-
House. — Boston Transcript.

Every advert isemeni iu PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Studio Directory

ASSOCIATED PRODUCERS, INC..
729 Seventh Ave.. N. Y.

(s) Maurice Tourneur. Culver City, Cal.
(s) Thos. H. Ince, Culver City, Cal.

J. Parker Read, Jr., Ince Studios, Culver
City, Cal.
(s) Mack Sennett, Edendale, Cal.
(8) Marshall Neilan, Goldwyn Studios. Culver

City. Cal.
(s) Allan Dwan, Hollywood Studios, 6642

Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.
(s) King Vidor Productions, 7200 Santa

Monica Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.
(s) J. L. Frothlngham, Prod., Brunton Studios,
5300 Melrose Ave., Hollywood. Cal.
BI.ACKTON PRODUCTIONS. INC., Bush House,

Aldwych. Strand, London, England.
ROBERT BRUNTON STUDIOS, 5341 Melrose

Ave., Hollywood, Cal.
CHRISTIE FILM CORP., 6101 Sunset Blvd..

Hollywood, Cal.
EDUCATIONAL FILMS CORP., of America.

370 Seventh Ave.. N. Y. C.
FAMOUS-PLAYERS-LASKY CORP, Paramount,
485 Fifth Ave., New York City,
(s) Pierce Ave. and Sixth St., Long Island City,

New York,
(s) Lasky, Hollywood, Cal.

British Paramount (s) Poole St., Islington,
N. London, England.
Realart, 469 Fifth Ave., New York City,
(s) 211 N. Occidental Blvd., Los Angeles, Cal.
FIRST NATIONAL EXHIBITORS' CIRCUIT,
INC., 6 West 48th St.. New York.

R. A. Walsh Prod., 5341 Melrose Ave..

Hollywood, Cal.
Mr. and Mrs. Carter De Haven. Prod., Louis
B. Mayer Studios, Los Angeles.
(a) Buster Keaton Comedies, 1025 Lillian Wav,
Hollywood, Cal.
Anita Stewart Co., 3800 Mission Road, Los

Angeles, Cal.
Louis B. Mayer Productions, 3S00 Mission
Road, Los Angeles, Cal.
(s) Allen Holubar, 1510 Laurel Ave., Hollywood,
Cal.
Norma and Constance Talmadge Studio,

318 East 48th St., New York.
Katherine MacDonald Productions. Georgia

and Girard Sts., Los Angeles, Cal.
David M. Hartford. Prod., 3274 West 6th St.,

Los Angeles, Cal.
Hope Hampton, Prod., Peerless Studios,
Fort Lee, N. J.
(s) Chas. Ray, 1428 Fleming St., Los Angeles.
Richard Barthelmess Inspiration Corp., 565
Fifth Ave., N. Y. C.
FOX FILM CORP., (s) 10th Ave. and 55th St..
New York; (s) 1401 Western Ave., Hollywood.
Cal.
GARSON STUDIOS, INC., (s) 1845 Alessandro St.,

Edendale, Cal.
GOLDWYN FILM CORP.. 469 Fifth Ave., New

York; (s) Culv r City, Cal.
HAMPTON, JESSE B., STUDIOS, 1425 Fleming

St.. Hollywood, Cal.
HART, WM. S. PRODUCTIONS, (s) 1215 Bates

St., Hollywood, Cal.
LOIS WEBER STUDIOS. 4634 Santa Monica

Blvd.. Hollywood, Cal.
HOLLYWOOD STUDIOS, 6642 Santa Monica

Blvd., Hollywood, Cal.
INTERNATIONAL FILMS. INC., 729 Seventh
Ave.. N. Y. C. (s) Second Ave. and 127th St..
N. Y.
METRO PICTURES CORP., 1476 Broadway, New
York; (S) 3 West 61st St.. New York, and
Romaine and Cahuenga Ave., Hollywood, Cal.
PATHE EXCHANGE. Pathe Bldg., 35 W. 45th St.,
New York, (si Geo. B. Scitz, 134th St. and
Park Ave., New York City.
R-C PICTURES PRODUCTIONS, 723 Seventh
Ave., New York; Currier Bldg.. Los Angeles;
(3) corner Cower and Melrose Sts., Hollywood
Cal.
ROTHACKER FILM MFG. CO.. 1339 Diversey

Parkway, Chicago. 111.
SELZNICK PICTURES CORP., 729 Seventh Ave..
New York; (s) 807 East 175th St., New York, and
West Fort Lee. N. J.
UNITED ARTISTS CORPORATION, 729 Seventh
Ave., New York.

Mary Pickford Co., Brunton Studios, Holly-
wood. Cal.; Douglas Fairbanks Studio's
Hollywood. Cal.; Charles Chanlin Studios,
1416 LaBrea Ave. Hollywood, Cal.
D. W. Griffith Studios, Orienta Point, Mama-
roneck, N. Y.

Rex Beach, Whitman Bennett Studio, 537

Riverdale Ave.. Yonkers. New York; Geo.

Arllss. Prod.. Distinctive Prod., Inc.. 366

Madison Ave.. N. Y.

UNIVERSAL FILM MFG. CO.. 1600 Broadway,

New York; (s) Universal City. Cal.
VITAOR PH COMPANY OF AMERICA. 469
Fifth ve.. New York; (s) East 15th St. and
Locus Ave.. Brooklyn. N. Y., and 1708 Tal-
madge St., Hollywood, Cal.

GENUINE

FLACQNETtES/

of Imported Perfumes

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Guest: What perfume are you using?

Hostess: Coty's L'Origan. I buy it in Fla-
conettes — only $1 each.

Guest : Oh yes, I buy MY favorite perfume
in Flaconettes, too — and always
carry one in my bag.

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Parfum Ideal

GUERLA1N

Jicky : Apres VOndee

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Jasmin de Corse

HOUBIGANT

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ROS1NE
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D'ORSAY
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Society now applies perfumes
from Flaconettes. No other way
will do — for has not Paris de-
clared Flaconettes the smartest
way to use precious extracts?

Nothing could be so exquisite
as the Flaconette vial nestling in
its satinum case. Nothing so
simple and economical to apply —
with the special applicator.

FLACONETTES form the
final touch to a perfect toilette.

FLACONETTES containing about
ioo applications, on sale at Drug,
Dept. 8C Specialty Stores. But, to
introduce FLACONETTES to
you, we will forward any perfume
you desire. Send money order,
stamps or cash — adding ioc on each
for war tax, packing and postage.

IMPORTERS EXCHANGE,lnc.

220 Fifth Ave. (Dept. Piz ) New York

DEALERS:

( Write for attracti-ve proposition)

->*

YOU HAVE A BEAUTIFUL FACE !

BUT YOUR NOSE?

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pressure regulators and made of li^t polished metal, corrects now ill-shaped noses
without operation, quickly, safely and permanently. Diseased cases excepted. Is
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Write today for free booklet, which tells how to correct ill-shaped Noses
without cost if not satisfactory

M. Trilety, Face Specialist, 1577 Ackerman Building, Binghamton, N. Y.

Also For Sale at Riker-Hegeman, Liggett's and other First-Class Drug Stores

When you write to advertisers please mention rilOTOI'LAY MAGAZINE.

IOO

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Photoplay's Gold Medal
of Honor

Has been awarded to the producer
of the best motion picture of 1920.

Turn to page 56 and read about it.

2?l WALLFLOWER?

YOU Can Now L~arn to Dance

at home, quickly, through Arthur Murray's
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Mary T. Goldman, 861 Goldman Bide., St. Paul, Minn.

Please send me your FREE trial bottle of MaryT.
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From Dishes to Drama!

{Concluded from page 37)

A hundred dollars went into the house-
keeping fund for the family. With the rest,
Helen bought a ticket and started for New
York. Now she didn't know one soul in
New York, didn't know the location of a
street nor a studio, she didn't have a job or
an idea where to get one.

Because it was cheap, she took a room in
Brooklyn and began her weary search for
work. She didn't land. Nobody knew her.
The studios were overcrowded. Her fifty
dollars dwindled, disappeared. Her room
rent was overdue. Her stomach was empty.

Then she had an inspiration. She had
learned something of house work at home.
The landlady, who was beginning to regard
her with an unfriendly eye, was without her
usual kitchen mechanic. Helen Ferguson
cast herself for the role.

It wasn't easy. She hated it with a pas-
sion she declares she has never given any-
thing else in the world. The first few days
were acute torture to her hands — and pride.

But her intelligence, and something
deeper, told her that it was only an obstacle,
a trial of strength. She went to work to
conquer it.

"Three days after I'd really systematized
it so I could manage, I found a place copy-
ing in an insurance office," she said, smiling.

For several months she kept at this, still

besieging the studios.

At last she got an offer to play in a health
film for the government. She worked days
at the studio, and returned to the dark office
building at night to labor for six hours more
on her office work.

But the break had come for her — as it
usually does if a girl can stick it out.
Blackton engaged her for a lead with
Mitchell Lewis — and she stayed with the
concern for several more pictures, before she
saved enough to try Hollywood.

Over three years ago she came here, and
she has not been idle a day since. She has
worked at almost every studio, never under
contract but seeking the best part in the best
picture she could get. Her biggest hits were
made in the Jack London specials made by
Metro, in which she was featured.

Now she and her mother and sister live in
a charming red brick-white plaster court,
and drive a beautiful little sedan, and Helen
wears a diamond bar pin.

"Everything mine — my own- — I earned
them," she said, laughing, but her eyes
blazed rather finely, " I glory in it."

Her present engagement with Paramount
to appear in William de Mille's "Miss Lulu
Bett" and later to play the lead in "Diplo-
macy" for him places her in the front ranks
of worth-while screen actresses.

When Venus Ordered Hash

lessen my appetite. I was so
that I was ashamed to eat half of what I
wanted. I didn't dare ask for a second
helping, though I wanted a third.

"On some of those lunchless days I was
frantic for food. I used to stand in front
of cheap confectioneries and shamelessly
flatten my nose against the show windows
staring at the pieces of chocolate. I
remember calculating that while there was
nourishment in a ten-cent bar of chocolate —
and how I did and do like chocolates!—
there would be more in a ten-cent plate
of hash. I went into a Childs restaurant
and ordered the hash. But there came the
time when I never dared spend a dime no
matter how my stomach clamored from
eight o'clock to six. My tiny fund was
growing smaller and smaller. I never
walked less than eight or ten miles a day,
to and from the club, and looking for work.
My shoes, fast growing shabby, were a
nightmare to me, for one day someone would
notice they were shabby, and what chance
has a girl who can no longer make a good
appearance!

"At this time came what seemed The
Great Chance. A male star who was
arranging for a series of Shakespearean
performances would engage me for Ophelia
— if I would be his 'lady friend.' It was
then I learned that there were such barters
of flesh for a chance.

"Outwardly I was silent on these day
after day calls at the agencies and the
managers' offices, or as I sat in the forlorn
waiting row, on the bench of Hope of
Advancement. Inwardly I was crying
'I have something within, to sell. I can
do something if you will only give me the
chance. Give me a chance before I starve ! '

"I thought of suicide. I used to walk
along Riverside Drive wondering which
was the best place to jump in. I began
to plan. I made up my mind it should
be a neat case of self murder. There
should be no slipping into shallow water
where a policeman could wade in and save
me. I must jump from a high bank where
the water was deep. I was so obsessed
by these thoughts and plans that I dreamed

{Concluded from page 30)

hungry of buying a small waterproof case to hold
my card and prevent it being water soaked.
I wanted my name to be legible. I had
no taste for being an unrecognized suicide.
If my card could be found my body would
at least escape Potter's Field.

"One day someone suggested that I go
to the Vitagraph Studio. I inquired about
the fare. I was disappointed when I
learned that I would have to pay two fares
to go to the studio in Brooklyn. I had
only seventeen cents. If they would
not take me I wondered how I should get
back to the club.

" I arrived and was shown into the
square where horses and wagons and per-
sons in odd costumes indiscriminately
mingled. A director was pointed out to
me and I made my way to him and told
him I had come for work. He said, 'Have
you had any experience?' I lied to live.
I answered, 'Yes.' He asked, 'How much?'
I answered, 'Four months.' He said,
'What can you do?' I replied, lifting my
head with the absolute confidence I felt,
' I can do what anybody else can do. '
Other directors gathered about us. They
looked curiously at each other while I
made the strange reply. One of them
sent me to the office. There someone
talked to me about terms. He said:
'There isn't much to do just now. We
are not making many pictures at present,
so are not paying as large salaries as while
we are busy. What do you say to sixty
dollars a week?' I didn't say anything.
I couldn't. I nodded.

"Sixty dollars a week seemed to me all
the wealth in the world.

"What do you think I did with my first
week's salary? Paid a twenty-five dollar
installment on a new piano. That was not
a luxury. I deemed it a necessity. For
while doing pictures I could keep up my
music." Since that engagement at the Vita-
graph Miss Blythe has had no idle moments.
The years that followed have been crammed
with effort and achievement. The lesson
she deduces from her hard beginning is:

"Believe in yourself and don't be afraid
to say so!"

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

ioi

The Unhappy Ending

{Concluded from page 26)

latter gentlemen choose the treacle? They
did not. The great majority of them bought
the version with the unhappy ending!

Superficially the fact that so many im-
portant films have ended tragically may not
appear particularly significant. But the
truth is that no other cinematographic in-
novation has meant quite so much as this
one. Indeed, the advent of the unhappy
ending marks the most vital and important
step yet taken by the silent drama. It at
once lifts motion pictures out of the category
of mere tawdry, time-annihilating enter-
tainment, and places them in the ciass of
enduring artistry.

And here is the explanation:

The only pleasure that uneducated per-
sons derive from a story or a picture lies in
its document or subject-matter. Conse-
quently, virtue and nobility must triumph;
all seducers, marplots and ganufs must be
foiled; and the heroine must land the gentle-
man of her choice. In short, everythirg
must turn out happily, whether it is logical
or not.

But in stories and pictures which are
beautifully and intelligent'y done, which
portray real flesh-and-blcod characters and
not mere sawdust dummies, the happy end-
ing is of secondary consideration, because
the spectator or reader gets his chief pleas-
ure from the technique and artistry of the
work. This is why so many great classics
are tragedies — "Macbeth," "Hamlet," the
early Greek dramas, and numerous works of
Balzac, Thacke'ray, Dickens, De Maupas-
sant, Poe, Flaubert and Turgenev.

Life is not all beer and skittles. The
c*osmic crocheter drops a stitch occasionally.
We do not always get the right girl. Now
and then a wily crook succeeds in baffling
the gendarmerie. Here and there is an
honest man who has not stumbled on riches.
In brief, things do not always turn out just
right.

Therefore, if our motion pictures are true
to life, they will not always end happily
either. But if we have sufficient intelligence
and appreciation we can enjoy them because
of their truth and reality — because they re-
flect life as it is, and teach a higher lesson
than mere "gladness." That is why we
enjoy "Hamlet" and Dickens's "Christmas
Carol" and the novels of Conrad.

When all our photoplays were consist-
ently given a rubber-stamp happy ending,
whether it was logical or not, it meant that
motion picture audiences were mentally in-
capable of appreciating the better-class pic-
tures, and that film production had not
reached a point where it could hold and in-
terest a person by its technique — its pic-
torial beauty, its structure, its form, its
artistry — aside from the mere plot.

Consequently, when the unhappy ending
made its appearance on the screen, motion
pictures took their place with the older
recognized arts. It proved that not only
had the technique of the cinema become
artistic and worth-while, but that the men-
tal standard of motion picture patrons had
risen from the merely juvenile type of mind
demanding only documentary amusement,
to a mature and intelligent type of mind
which could grasp and enjoy both truth and
art.

'"TURN to page 56 and learn
which was the best pho-
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102

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

i
i

Norma Talma dge

who has just completed
her latest picture

TTie Wonderful Thing'

NEVER has Norma Talmadge been so appealing as in this delightful
comedy drama, that makes you laugh and at the same time pulls at
the heart strings. It is a picture that will make you happy; that will
leave you with that wonderful feeling of all the fine things in life.

The picture is individual, unusual, but it is typical of the high class
productions that are made by independent stars and directors, artists who
work for themselves in their own studios and who are thus able to give
full play to their creative powers.

First National believes that the work of independent artists has more
potentialities than that of others in the field. It for this reason that it takes
their productions, accepting such pictures strictly on their merit as the
best in entertainment.

Associated First National Pictures, Inc., is a nation wide organization of inde-
pendent theatre owners who foster the production of finer photoplays and who are
striving for the constant betterment of screen entertainment. Look for its trademark
on the screen at your theatre.

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FOR A GOOD CHRISTMAS SUGGESTION

SEE PAGE 118

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How I Keep in Condition

{Continued from page 31)

to walk the two miles in the morning and
home again in the afternoon. And every
day I went horseback-riding, or swimming
in salt water.

At the end of the first week I had lost
four pounds. The dietitian expressed
himself as well pleased and assured me that
"the first week is the hardest." My re-
ward was something to eat!

Here is the diet which I followed during
the second week:

BREAKFAST
Half a grape fruit, or half a cantaloupe,

or a glass of orange juice
One piece of gluten toast
One glass of water

LUNCH
Fruit or vegetable salad
One glass of iced tea, sweetened with
saccharine instead of sugar

DINNER
Steak, lamb, or white meat of boiled chicken
Spinach, beans, carrots, or beets —

cooked without butter
One piece of gluten toast
Unsweetened fruit
One cup of tea, sweetened with saccharine.

Only once during the week was I per-
mitted a small baked potato, without butter.

At the end of the second week I had won.
The eight pounds had been lost somewhere
in the shuffle. And when Opportunity,
true to promise, knocked the second time,
I flew to the door.

"The part is yours," said Mr. deMille.
"And, if you ask me, Lila, I think you look
better than you ever have — thinner,
healthier, and livelier."

Thus encouraged, I went right on with
that second-week diet for another three
weeks. By that time I had lost fifteen
pounds and decided that my weight was
just where I wanted it — one hundred and
three.

Thereupon my dietetic guide, philosopher
and friend gave me permission to eat what-
ever I liked. He suggested, however,
that if I wished to keep my weight the
same, I should go back to my "eat and grow
thin" diet one day a week. And by all
means keep up my exercises.

That is the plan I follow now, and it
works very well. By giving my digestive
organs this one day-in-seven of comparative
rest and by exercising regularly I have
kept my weight, with very slight variations,
at one point. And I'm healthier than I
ever have been in my life.

When I feel the need of strenuous exer-
cise, I play tennis. For less strenuous
exercise, horseback riding is ideal. Gloria
Swanson, who is an excellent horsewoman,
and I often go riding together. The first
time we went, I frightened Gloria almost
to tears by falling off my horse, and she
deserves a Carnegie medal for rescuing me.

Fresh air and regular exercise are the
most important factors for keeping in
condition, and, contrary to the general
notion, these are not so easy for the motion
picture player to secure. Of course, we
often have days on open-air locations.
But these are more than counterbalanced
by weeks at the studio on enclosed sets,
where the air and temperature, despite
good ventilating systems, are not of the
best.

However, I try to obey the call board
and at the same time keep as regular hours
as possible. I never believe in following
a fatiguing day at the studio with a fatiguing
party in the evening. Outside of that,
social relaxation, I think, is often as good
for the mind as a game of tennis is for the
digestion.

While I devote a lot of time to keeping
my body in condition, I believe in regular
exercises for the brain also. I am young,
and there are many, many things that mv

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine-

How I Keep in Condition

( Concluded)

-Advertising Section

103

brain does not know, and I don't intend
to allow it to suffer from lack of exercise.
I try to read good books regularly. Frances
Harmer, the lovely little woman who is
Mr. deMille's literary assistant, volun-
teered to help me with my reading — she

has read everything worth-while ever
written — and she has outlined a course in
the world's best literature for me. My
sister Peggy and I spend a certain number
of hour?; every week reading together,
following Miss Harmer's suggestions.

The Shadow Stage

{Concluded from page 63)

"STEELHEART"— Vitagraph

SURE - FIRE melodrama with guns,
knives, pistols, dynamite explosions, a
lost mine, a lost heroine and a bullet-proof
hero, William Duncan and Edith Johnson,
who score heavily with serial fans every-
where, give their admirers full value in this
five-reel thriller. It isn't art, but it will
make you forget your troubles for an hour.
Shock absorbers, forward, march!

QUEENIE— Fox

HERE is a good story, made into a good
photoplay. Shirley Mason, though
starred, has a minor role. Interest centers
around Wilson Hummell, character actor,
who in a dual role "walks off with the pic-
ture." You'll be content to follow him every
foot of the way, but much credit should go
to the little star who has allowed her story
to rank above her close-ups.

GARMENTS OF TRUTH— Metro

IF you are numbered among Gareth
Hughes' admirers and mark "Sentimen-
tal Tommy" as your Best Film Hour of the
season, you'll be delighted with this pic-
ture. It is Hughes at his best in a whim-
sical, humorous story that suits his person-
ality well and suggests the errant, lovable
Tommy. Ethel Grandin, popular in early
film days, is brought in for a casual final
close-up.

ACTION— Universal

OCT GIBSON is an excellent norse-
man. We are forcibly reminded of
this, now that he has deserted his popular
two-reelers and blossomed out as an actor in
five-reel productions. Here is the usual
"western" with all that the title implies,
and nothing more excepting, fortunately,
Clara Horton. Unimportant.

GOD'S CRUCIBLE— Hodkinson

UNFORTUNATELY this film version of
Connor's "The Foreigner" runs away
with itself. Time is taken to develop unim-
portant characters; entire sequences with no
direct bearing on the plot take the interest
from the main story, until the whole be-
comes a maze of uncertainties. It is dis-
appointing and at times tiring. Gaston
Glass heads the cast.

THE INFAMOUS MISS REVELL—
Metro

FLAT. The plot is developed in the most
obvious manner possible and without
sufficient material for a feature length
photoplay. Alice Lake is her usual self,
playing a dual role by changing her hair-
dress. Casson Ferguson is miscast as a
hard-working school-master. Oh me! Oh my!

THE ROWDY— Universal

THIS will remind you of the early film
days, when the gay, carefree daughter of
the lighthouse keeper was a popular subject

with all scenarists. Remember? Gladys
Walton brings her back, romping through
the absurd little story in her usual manner.
Jack Mower contributes a good character-
ization. An average Walton release.

THE SECRET OF THE HILLS—
Vitagraph

WHEN is a serial not a serial? When it
is in five reels instead of two-reel in-
stallments, apparently. The only difference
between this and former Antonio Moreno
offerings, is that you must sit through more
of it at a time. Serial fans, don't miss it.
Anti-serial fans, don't see it.

THE NIGHT HORSEMEN— Fox

HERE'S Tom Mix, just a wild, wild
man, accompanied in his wanderings
by a nifty horse with a silver-studded
harness. There is a girl waiting at home,
with a harness for Tom, too, but he evades it
up until the last moment. The usual reck-
less riding, impossible adventure and ster-
eotyped conclusion.

GOOD AND EVIL— F. B. Warren

SILHOUETTED on a background of Old
World splendor and magnificence, we
have here an allegorical melodrama filmed
in Bohemia, featuring the beautiful though
stagey Lucy Doraine. Not for the casual
picture-goer. The episodes are too brief for
successful establishment of characters, the
whole is too remote from our experience to
have direct appeal.

THE RAGE OF PARIS— Universal

MISS DU PONT may be star stuff. She
shows no promise of it in her first re-
lease. Silly story, with unintentionally
funny titles. Scenes are laid in Paris,
Arabia and California, and the best thing in
the picture is a realistic sand-storm. But
who wants to sit through five reels for a
sand-storm?

THE GIRL FROM GOD'S
COUNTRY— F. B. Warren

NELL SHIPMAN, in a dual role, stars in
this photoplay. Also she is director.
Also, she is author thereof. The early
sequences in the Northern wilds are inter-
esting, but the story sags badly as it pro-
ceeds, and drags out lengthily to an im-
possible conclusion. Everything from arma-
dillos to aeroplanes and back.

WHAT LOVE WILL DO— Fox

SMALL town life as Edna Murphy and
Johnny Walker live it. Of course,
Johnnie has to be reformed, having grown
up without a mother's loving care. A
"Fake" evangelist accomplishes this, then
slips away with the church funds. Compli-
cations ensue. Really, you'll enjoy this mild,
amiable little story. It has some original
moments, it is clean and amusing. A good
family picture.

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104

Corns

Lift Off with the Fingers

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Rosalie

Doesn't hurt a bit! Drop a little
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Continued from page 24)

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"Poor old Otto," I chuckled. "His goose
is in the pan."

For nothing like this had happened before.

"How do you like our tall friend?" I ven-
tured to Rosalie one evening, thinking per-
haps to make a joke.

"Fine," she said frankly. "Do you
notice anything about him?"

"He wears no overcoat," I laughed.

"Yes," she said earnestly, "he wears no
overcoat, and he is not oily. To you, that
means nothing. To me, men are greasy-
skinned beasts that wear overcoats. I hate
men and I hate overcoats. They turn their
fat backs on me and stick out their arms.
You can't know how I hate that sight — a
man backing up to me, his arms stuck out."

"I always take off my coat myself," I
said defensively.

"Yes," she said, not thinking of me at all.

"How about John?" I persisted.

"He's real. A strong character. Is he
stuffing himself with apple dumpling and
brandied peaches? Does he gobble a platter
of stuffed goose and a quart of hot potatoes?
Do you see him wolfing down roast guinea
hen or broiled lobster? Look at his muscles
— at the lines in his face. He is my notion
of a man."

I smiled at Rosalie's earnestness.

"Perhaps you are his idea of a woman.
If so, it will be interesting to — to us all."

She colored again and asked me not to be
foolish or silly or fresh, I forget which.
When he paused to pay Henry his dole,
John lingered near the overcoats and gravely
chatted for a moment with the little lady of
the checks. I wondered if he was telling her
of polar bears or of the changing hues in her
bronze hair.

At any rate, they laughed together. A
week later, John escorted Rosalie in the
polite quest of entertainment. They went
to the movies in mid-afternoon — Rosalie's
hour of freedom. I made jocular comment
to Otto that evening, and whether he caused
it or not, my dish of boiled beef was
execrable — for Tommy's.

Thus we waited and beheld the romance
grow and expand like a flower — Otto and
myself. It pleased me, because underneath
a crusty manner I am a peculiarly senti-
mental ass, and I adore to look on while
people fall in love with each other and live
happy ever after.

Otto, on the contrary, was not pleased.
His dull, fat face was as expressionless as
ever, but there was a gloomy, brooding look
in his eyes and he watched Rosalie somberly.

The final chapter opened. Rosalie walked
over to Tommy one night, buttoning her
gloves and adjusting her hat. It was near
the closing hour and the cloak room was
deserted. She smiled up at the proprietor.

"Tommy," she said, "I'm going to quit
my job."

The famous man looked at her incred-
ulously.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"No more overcoats for me, Tommy.
You've got to get another girl; I'm through."

"Another job?"

"No job. I'm going to marry John
Davids."

"Oh," said Tommy, and Henry, the
cashier, said "oh" in a smaller voice.

Next night I heard the news. Every
waiter knew the intimate details.

"They're going to live in Brooklyn," said
Philip, who is the oldest bus boy at Tom-
my's. "And they're going to have a car."

"I expected it," remarked Monseer
Louie, taking my plate and substituting a
hot one. " I knew she loved him."

"You are a fool," said a voice behind us.
"She does not luff him. You know nudding
about it."

It was the voice of Otto, and when I

turned he was whiter than usual and his
bald pate glistened more than ever.

"She does not luff him," Otto repeated,
more vehemently, and he walked hurriedly
away, leaving Monseer Louie a bit aston-
ished.

They were married within the week, and
the restaurant saw no more of them.

Tommy sent to an agency and employed
a new cloak room girl — a lump of a creature
with taffy-colored hair, whose name was
Marie, and who stood in Rosalie's old place
and took the endless overcoats with a fixed
and fatuous grin.

Somehow the restaurant lost a deal of its
charm after that and the customers spoke
often of Rosalie.

Davids — so we heard — was now a business
man — an executive with a firm dealing in
china vases and carved things. He sat be-
hind a mahogany desk and pushed buttons
for little boys to answer. For a while we
saw nothing of him, and finally he came into
Tommy-the-Oysterboy's one night for din-
ner— aione.

That caused remark, but there was no
explanation. Otto looked at him coldly, and
pawed at his chin, which is a habit he has
when he sinks into thought. Tommy asked
politely after Rosalie. She was getting on
fine.

"Bring her in some time," Tommy said
cordially. "She's got a lot of friends. Tell
her they're always asking about her."

"I will," said Davids, carelessly.

At first he came seldom and Monseer
Louie attended to him, finding a table and
discussing the menu with him. Otto is a
lofty one and reserves his personal ministra-
tions for the elder eaters, but in the end
Otto supplanted Monseer Louie, as John's
nightly visits grew.

Little by little the melancholy manner of
the head-waiter left him. His fat, puffy face
began to lighten and the smile that had dis-
appeared with Rosalie's going, returned and
warmed him. It was Otto who now took
charge of John Davids, the soul of courtesy
and thoughtfulness, overwhelming the
former pole crusader with kindly attention,
explaining the French words and the
assorted mysteries of the menu.

I will admit here that I do not know be-
yond a doubt whether the whole thing that
happened was Otto's doing. It may be that
no plan entered his Teuton mind, to be car-
ried out to fulfillment with such infinite
skill. No one can say. John Davids had
spent six hard years and possibly when a
man returns to the .flesh pots, he will dip
into them, he will humor himself with the
luxuries of civilization.

From that first meal of toast and tea,
John moved along to the more complex
things. His appetite increased, and pres-
ently he was eating with as much gusto as
the solid citizens at the crowded tables
about him. And in his increased interest in
foods he was ably assisted by Otto, the
head-waiter, who knows more about human
nourishment than any other man in New
York.

It was Otto who went in person to the
chef and selected the finest cuts of rare
roast beef for John; Otto who chose the
special kinds of oysters and saw that they
were served on the flat shell; Otto who
superintended the selection of John's
braised loin of pork with apple sauce and
mashed potatoes, the galantine of capon,
the fruit supreme, or the baked Alaska.

And those meals — the nightly dinners of
a once sparing eater, a man who had lived
for days on brittle biscuits and water! The
table groaned under its load — vegetables,
desserts, entrees, hors d'ouevres, salads,
cheese — everything for which Tommy's is so
famous. Certainly if John had never known

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Rosalie

[Continued)

how to eat, he was learning in a rare school.

It was in the early summer when Davids
first began coming and never once did he
bring Rosalie. I suppose she could not have
choked down a meal in Tommy's no matter
how perfect it might be. Naturally there
were certain changes in the man who had
fought off the ice floes and chased the timid
polar bear. He began to look a bit tubby.
The deep, clean-cut lines in his strong face
began to soften. The romantic pallor I ad-
mired turned gradually to a faint pink and
then to a mellow red. His girth increased.
He was still the same giant of a man, but his
cheek bones were no longer prominent. His
eagle-like look was gone. His lean throat
filled out. His wrists seemed to thicken.
His weight was changing steadily, for one
cannot dine nights in Tommy's without
showing it on the soulless scales.

Things were going on much the same
when Autumn blustered into town. Tommy
was still the same brisk business man, and
the part in his sleek hair was as exact and
as amazing as ever. Monseer Louie, the
assistant, maintained his wonted good
humor, his unobstrusive courtesy; and Otto
was as puffy-faced and as bald as the day
when I first beheld him stroking a napkin.

The new cloak room Venus, while never
to be mentioned in the same breath with
Rosalie, had held her job and seemed to be
giving moderate satisfaction, and behind the
cashier's desk, Henry sat iiv dignity and
groomed his whiskers with a little white
comb which he carried in his vest. I had
become a sodden regular. I was one with
the beefy business men who drifted in night
after night and stuffed themselves joyously.

On an ordinary Fall evening, brisk with a
fresh wind from the Bay, while Tommy's
was slowly filling up, John Davids walked in
and I looked at him in disbelief. He was
wearing an overcoat, though it was not a
night of unusual chill. It was no ordinary
"light Fall overcoat," as the advertisements
say. It was a long, shaggy thing of fur, that
reached from his hat band to his heels. It
was a tremendous sort of overcoat, and he
gave it nonchalantly to Marie, the girl of
no discernment.

"The intrepid explorer is growing soft.
Look at his jolly overcoat," I remarked to
Otto, who stood at my table and grinned.

"He is colt," Otto replied. "He chust
bought it. Dere vos a sale of offercoats to-
day."

Davids ate his usual hearty meal, and I
went back in my mind to the lean, wiry man
who had come in one night for toast and tea.
What a change!

At nine o'clock he left the restaurant,
stuffed like a Christmas stocking. Marie
bundled him into his fur coat. The doors
closed behind him.

It was many a long month before I heard
■what happened in Brooklyn on that pleas-
ant Autumn night. John walked down the
hall of his domicile, rang the door-bell of his
flat, and the patter of Rosalie's feet came
from within, as she hurried to open for her
liege lord.

She looked at the furry thing standing
there in the doorway. She saw, not a man — ■
not a husband home for the night — only an
overcoat; a garment of fur and silk that had
come upon her husband and shorn him of
his strength.

He went slowly in, greeted Rosalie with a
smile and a foody kiss, turned his back to
her and stuck out his arms — the old familiar
gesture. Rosalie said nothing. She took
the garment, and pulled it from her hus-
band's back, as she had pulled unnumbered
thousands from the backs of other men.
She walked silently to a closet and hung the
accursed thing on a peg.

Xo word escaped those red lips, which

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Rosalie

(Concluded)
were drawn tight — no syllable of protest or
reproach, or scorn or rage. It was not a
time for outburst. All evening she was
silent. John read his newspaper, asked her
how the car was running, smoked his pipe
by the gas heater, and retired to his bed, full
of pleasant thoughts and Tommy's unsur-
passed cooking.

When he awakened in the morning, there
was no Rosalie in the kitchen. There was
no early morning sound of clattering dishes
or the smell of coffee. There was no break-
fast. John turned out of bed in surprise.

On the dining room table a bit of note
greeted him, and all it said, quite undramat-
ically, was "You fooled me, too. You are
like the rest. Rosalie."

Really, this is the end of the little tale.
There is only a faint after-clap, because at
ten o'clock on the morning when John
Davids arose in his breakfastless home, a
familiar figure walked briskly into Tommy-
the-Oysterboy's. Ten o'clock is very early,
but Tommy is always on hand. So is Otto.
They turned in astonishment to look as
Rosalie removed her hat and shook out her
bronze hair. Her eyes were as bright as
ever and her lips as scarlet.

"I came back," she announced, going
over to Tommy and taking him. by the
lapels of his coat.

"I see you did," Tommy answered, at a
loss.

"I'd like to go to work again," she con-
tinued calmly. "I've left my husband."
"No," said Tommy.

"For better or for worse. Men are all
pigs."

"What do you want to do?" asked
Tommy, a bit troubled, and half turning to-
wards the silent abode of overcoats.

"Not that," Rosalie said swiftly. "Any-
thing but that, Tommy."

"Well," said the proprietor, "Henry —
Henry's getting a bit slow. Yesterday he
takes a five for a ten. There's a place for
Henry out on my farm. You often wanted
to be the cashier, Rosalie. Suppose I sort of
rebuild this cashier's compartment — make
it more comfortable and showy — suppose
— how soon can you start?"

"Now," replied the lady of the metallic
tresses, and she lifted up the hinged board
that separates the public from the money.

And that is how Rosalie of the midnight
eyes and the queer smile has come back with
Tommy-the-Oysterboy's, after quite an ab-
sence, during which she was missed. The
customers are delighted, but no one is quite
as delighted as Otto, who has a wife and six
— or seven — children somewhere. He was
beaming when I came in, and he continued
to beam.

There sat the slim figure behind the
mahogany register, ringing the little bells
as nonchalantly as Henry ever did it, and
looking down upon the filled room with her
funny smile. Rosalie greeted me with a true
hand-shake and a cheerful word.
"Glad to be back?" I inquired.
"I'll say so," she answered.
I seemed to eat that night with greater
relish, and whenever I looked across at Otto,
he was fondling his napkin and smiling like
an old fool. He moved back and forth like
a man singing a silent song in his heart, and
every so often he turned and faced the
front of the room. There was a bunch of
red and yellow flowers in a vase beside the
cash register, and another cluster lying on
the desk and still others in Rosalie's waist.
She had found them there when she came
on duty. Someone asked Otto where the
flowers came from.

"I dunno," he said stupidly. "I came
early, but dose flowers — dey vos here before
I come."

Of course, Otto is a liar. Most head-
waiters are liars.

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Hail the Woman

{Continued from page 29)

laugh. Slyly he pulled up by the road
and crept up to the cabin window. He
peered in to confirm his suspicions. Grav
and Judith were chatting cheerily aoout
the play. If Judith's acceptance of his
invitation had given Gray any mistaken
notion of her, it was dispelled by her frank
and dignified demeanor. Through the
evening nothing occurred to mar the friend-
ship as it had stood, and Gray treated her
not as a woman, not as a possible conquest,
but as a Person. She was happy.

When Judith hurried away to go home,
Joe Hurd was lurking in wait. He over-
took her.

"What were you doing alone with that
man in his cabin?"

But the sneering accusation in his square
hard face told Judith that Hurd had
answered his question for himself the only
way that Flint Hill understanding could
answer such a question.

Judith jerked herself free from his grasp
and replied to his shower of insults with
a slap in the face. Then she fled home.

Hurd stormed in after her and slammed
the door behind him with a bang that
turned Oliver Beresford in his chair.

HAIL THE WOI^AN

NARRATED, by permission, from the
Thomas H. Ince Associated Producers
photoplay, by C. Gardner Sullivan.
Directed by John Griffith Wray under the
supervision of Mr. Ince, with the following
cast:

Judith Beresford Florence Vidor

David Beresford Lloyd Hughes

Oliver Beresford Theodore Roberts

Mrs. Beresford Gertrude Claire

Nan Higgins Madge Bellamy

Odd Jobs Man Tully Marshall

Richard Stuart Charles Meredith

Joe Hurd Vernon Dent

Wyndham Gray Edward Martindel

Mrs. Stuart Mathilda Brundage

The Baby Eugenia Hoffman

David Junior Muriel Frances Dana

Judith stood ready to hear what she
knew he would say. But within, for all
her anger, she felt relief. Whatever came
she would be rid of Joe Hurd forever.

"I found her in that man Gray's cabin."

Beresford and Hurd exchanged a look
of cold understanding. That was all
there was to it for them.

"Father, father — why are you all so
anxious to believe the worst of me?" Her
tone mingled pathos and defiance.

"Believe it? We know it!" With that
Joe Hurd stormed out.

Judith turned on her father, and the
long smoldering rebellion flamed up.

"Are you going to forgive me as you
forgave David? Maybe this man will buy
you off as you did Nan's father." There
was bitter irony in her face. Judith did
not pretend a defense against their unjust
accusations.

Old Oliver Beresford was stricken for
a moment, speechless with surprise. That
a daughter of his should dare him thus,
brazenly defy him! It was inhuman and
unheard of, eternally wrong.

"This is your last night in my house,"
stormed the old man.

Judith turned to her brother David.
From him she had hoped for at least a
look of sympathy. She found only cold
condemnation, even aversion, in his eyes.

After a few tense moments Judith spoke.

"I hope," she said, slowly measuring
her words, "that you will never see me
again, for it is only by forgetting you and
those like you that I could bear the thought
of having to live."

Judith went out of the Beresford home
the next day and put Flint Hill behind her,
poignantly bitter against the injustices of
her father and brother, and her heart
bleeding at the grief-stricken farewell cry
of her mother.

The tides of time rolled on and a year
and a half later found David admitted to
the ministry and called to the charge of
the congregation at Flint Hill. This much
at least was as old Oliver Beresford had
ordained it.

Meanwhile Judith, like Nan, had been
drawn to New York. But there the
parallel of experience ended. Judith was
of the fit and capable. Nan was of the
unfit and unprepared.

Nan's child, born of charity in a maternity
home, was an added burden that she
could not hope to carry. She strove her
best but the tiny earnings available to
her meager abilities would not suffice.
The tragic commonplace happened, and
led by the same unkind destiny that had
at first betrayed her, Nan went that very
hard route that has been traditionally
called "the easiest way."

Judith's alert clear face and capable
manner found her a job clerking in a fash-
ionable shop on "the avenue," poorly paid
indeed at eighteen dollars a week, but paid.
On this Judith managed carefully and
modestly. She was able to live and she
was free. She was grateful for that.

When Christmas eve came that winter
back in the Beresford home in Flint Hill
they were hanging holly wreaths in the
window and decorating the home for
Christmas day. Only the unhappy mother
gave a thought back to Judith, with a
silent prayer for her safekeeping. And
at that hour Judith, in her shabby little
room, was wrapping a few tiny gifts to
gladden the hearts of the youngsters at
the Settlement House where she had found
opportunity of service. Way across the
city in even more hopeless quarters was
Nan, alone with her baby, little David
It was an hour of desperation for her.

The baby, helpless little parasite, lay
gurgling on the bed, sucking away the last
drops of milk from his bottle.

The forlorn mother sighed. David
needed warm clothes. He would presently
need more milk — and there was no money.

Nan was sick of heart and mind and
body.

But there was only one thing to do.

Before the cracked mirror Nan rouged
her cheeks and cast a smirking smile of
rehearsal at herself. Oh, the tragedy of
it! Rouge and smiles — for money.

Nan went out into the street, slipping
by with the step of a hunted thing, self-
accusing as a policeman passed her. The
streets were filled with the brightness and
merriment of Christmas eve. There was
bitterness and ache in her heart as she
tried to smile and spread her lure. Tears
came into her eyes, and she choked with
dry sobs.

But presently she gained self control.

When Nan returned to her miserable
room that night there was milk for the
baby, and new warm clothes and shoes, too.

Destiny was at work that Christmas eve,
and a new climax in this drama of tragedies
born of old Oliver Beresford's pride was
approaching.

Up the steps of the sordid tenement house
came Judith, sent on an errand of cheer and
bearing a Christmas basket from the

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Hail the Woman

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( Conti
Settlement House to a woman who lived
there across the hall. Judith heard the
sobbing woman. The door was ajar.
Sympathy made her peer inside. Judith
stepped into the room and laid a gentle
hand on the shoulder of the sobbing woman,
who looked up.

"Judith!" Nan cried out.

"Yes, Nan."

Nan broke down in tears again. Between
her fitful sobbings she told Judith her story,
of the secret marriage to David and all
of that, everything but the final worst.

Judith, listening with sympathy in her
eyes, picked up the infant.

"What pretty new shoes he has!"

Nan burst out, wildly weeping again.
Then she told it all, the story that begins
with the rouge and the smiles and "the
easiest way. "

After her storm of tears Nan was
weakened almost to fainting. Judith
wanted to go for a doctor, but Nan clung
to her. Nan had known no friend in
years. She could not let go of Judith.
In her heart she knew the end was near,
and she held to Judith like a child holding
a friendly hand in the awesome dark.

From a mission below floated up a
Christmas hymn.

"Silent night, peaceful night!

"All things sleep, shepherds keep

"Watch on Bethlehem's silent hills — "

"They used to sing that in the church
at home," Nan murmured.

And when the hymn was done, Nan
closed her eyes and that was the end.
Her Christmas gift was the peace eternal.

So it came that little David went home
with Judith, and she became a mother to
him.

Judith wrote one letter to her father,
carefully and as tactfully as might be,
setting forth the unhappy story of Nan
and the baby David. The letter came back
to her unopened. That was her answer.
It was to be her fight, alone and unaided.

Judith was equal to her task. Success
rewarded her unrelenting efforts, and in
time she became the head designer at the
shop where she had begun as a clerk.
With her comfortable little prosperity
she gave little David a better home and
its advantages. David was an adorable
baby, happy, sweet-tempered, lovable.

Then love came into Judith's life. At
the Settlement House, where when time
allowed she continued her labors of service
to the poor and the needy, she met Dick
Stuart. He was young, appreciative. He
became the personification of devotion to
Judith and to little Dick, her nephew, too.

At last Judith saw ahead a final happiness
and peace for her with Dick Stuart to
stand between her and a world she had
found so often unkind and unjust.

Back in Flint Hill old Oliver was grimly
and determinedly following his plans for
David, which had now become the old
man's one thought, his vicarious ambition.
For two years old Oliver had been laying
plans and pulling wires and scheming
influences. The annual conference of the
church, to be held in New York, approached,
and there it was understood that David
was to be assigned to a missionary station
in China, a crowning life achievement for
his self-righteous father.

In New York Dick Stuart's mother was
a leader in the same church and chairman
of the board of foreign missions. It
chanced that David Beresford and his
father Oliver were invited to the Stuart
home.

"My son's fiancee is here — a young lady
of the same name, Miss Judith Beresford."

Mrs. Stuart brought in Judith.

nued)

Here again the trio was brought face to
face — Judith, David and their father.

Old Oliver Beresford's face went purple
and black with rage. In his fear that out
of her acquaintance with Judith Mrs.
Stuart would learn the story of Nan, and
that of consequence David's appointment
to China would be cancelled, the old man
ihrew his fatherhood behind him and
denounced Judith before them all. He
recited the story of turning her from his
home for her wickedness and ended by
saying that the baby David was Judith's
child.

Judith, confronted with the old lie, and
faced again with the consequences of her
brother's sins, told the truth and the whole
truth, coolly and deliberately.

She was crushed when for the moment
no one believed her.

David in his supreme cowardice stood
by and again let the woman pay, sven
though the woman was his own sister.

Judith, broken, left the house.

Through a long sleepless night she
thought it over.

Even Dick Stuart, her lover, had been
willing to see her go, believing the worst
of her along with the rest of them.

A less brave woman would have sur-
rendered hope, but not Judith.

She was fired to fight it out now.

The next day Judith, taking little David
with her, took the train to Flint Hill. She
arrived at the Beresford residence just as
the family was preparing to go to the
church where David was to preach his
farewell sermon before departing for the
Orient. All of Flint Hill would be there
to hear him.

Judith's father ordered her and the
child from the house.

For the first time in his life old Oliver
met a force against which he could not
avail.

It had come to the end of silent sub-
missions for Mrs. Beresford. Her beloved
daughter was home, bringing her son's
child. Mother love, awakened anew by
the child and her lonely years of heart ache
during Judith's absence, gave the old
mother courage.

"She is my daughter and you daren't
put her out, Oliver Beresford!" The old
eyes flashed fire.

Beresford, angry and dazed at this new
rebellion, went off to the church with David.

Aflame with her new found power the
mother took Judith and little David with
her to the church and marched them to the
family pew, seating them beside the irate
old Oliver. He was choking his wrath in
the face of the congregation. Pride was
ruling him, even against his passions.

While they sat, looking straight ahead
and busy each with his . own surging
thoughts, little David slipped out of the
pew unnoticed, and strayed toward the
pulpit. As David Beresford came forward
to begin his sermon he felt a soft tug at his
coat and looked down into the eyes of his
son, for the first time.

David raised his eyes and found Judith
looking at him. Her white, firm set face
told him the truth.

David stood in silence, battling with
himself.

All his fellow townsmen were there to
hear his last sermon. It had been, up to
this moment, his coming hour of triumphant
attainment. And now?

A light came into David's face.

Old Mrs. Beresford rose in the family
pew and faced the audience, quietly and
with dignity. There was a momentary
stir, then silence. Something unexpected
was about to happen.

"My son," she said, controlling a quaver
in her voice, "my son has something to

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109

Hail the Woman

(Concluded)

tell you before he preaches another sermon."

The old lady sat down, and the hush
became theatrically tense.

David, stooping, took the child in his
arms and faced the audience with a new
force and frankness.

"I shall tell you the story of David
Beresford and Nan Higgins — this is our
son," he began.

Unfalteringly and sparing neither himself
nor his father David went through the
whole sad tale, more eloquent than any
sermon.

"And now I resign my ministry."

David Beresford sat down.

Old Oliver went home broken and de-
jected. His world had tumbled about him.
His life of selfish pride had brought its
inevitable reward.

That evening Dick Stuart, with a new
born faith in Judith, that came with his
better senses, reached Flint Hill.

Judith went to answer his knock at the
door. He drew her to him.

Presently she led Dick to the doorway
of the living room and pointed to the
group there.

Little David was sitting on his grand-
father's knee, telling the grave old man a
fair)' story. There was a new light in
David Beresford"s eyes, and a smile of pure
joy covered his old mother's face.

Judith, supremely happy now, turned to
Dick Stuart.

Somewhere, somehow, she was sure Nan
knew and was happy, too.

It was the hour of victory for Woman's
greater faith.

Should Movies Show
Cigarette Smoking?

THE Kansas moving picture censorship
board is having a serious argument on
the question of whether or not to admit
films showing women smoking cigarettes.
Women smokers have become so common
that it is a question of whether the old rules
of the censors should remain in full force or
submit to the tendencies of the times.

The two women members of the board,
Mrs. J. H. Miller and Mrs. A. L. Short, sti
believe that smoking among women of the
movies ought to be barred. But they are
willing to admit that a lot of women in real
life do smoke publicly, and more clandes-
tinely, and they may succumb to the argu-
ment of Dwight Thacher Harris, the male
member, who insists that since pictures are
supposed to depict real life a scene with
women smoking should not be barred if it
fits into the general theme of the picture.

For years it has been the rule in the Kan-
sas pictures that no kiss should last "longer
than thirty feet." There has been many a
love scene cut short under Rule 8, as the
movie men understood that the long and
passionate love scene could not get by the
Kansas censors if there were more than
thirty feet of film depicting it.

Not long ago there was a great howl from
some Kansas movie fans when they saw a
picture by their favorite comedian. The
comedian ran wildly before the camera with
his trousers on fire. The scene stopped by
order of the censors with the comedian still
on fire and the movie fans demanded to
know if he had burned to death. It hap-
pened that when the censors thought they
had seen enough of the comedian with his
pants burning they rang a bell which indi-
cates that a scene is long enough and the
operator just clipped off the remainder
without showing the stunt of putting out
the fire. — Boston Transcript.

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Why Does the World Love Mary?

[Continued jr

gorgeous Hollywood Hills through a flaming
eucalyptus tree that grows outside my win-
dow, and thinking about Mary Pickford. It
is immeasurably difficult for me to write
about her for just the reason I have men-
tioned— I feel so much I am afraid it will
sound like raving. That, too, is why I have
never before written a single word about
her.

So if you don't like it you'd better stop
now and turn over to where we pan a few
people, because this is bound to get worse.

Mary Pickford is one of the great women
of our time. If this age has produced any
superwomen, she is one.

In the first place Mary Pickford is better
known and better loved than any actress
has ever been before. And I think she is the
only supremely great actress in the history
of the world whose art found its medium
only in sweet, clean, joyous characteriz-
ations— for Maude Adams, in spite of all her
greatness, cannot be compared universally
to Miss Pickford.

Another strange thing impresses itself
upon me — the compositeness of her, if I
may coin the word for a moment. She is a
beauty — yet we seldom think of her as a
beauty. She is a great actress — but we do
not frequently use the word in connection
with her. She is a business genius and a
successful producer — but we pass this by as
of practically no importance. She is above
all a woman who has lived, loved, suffered,
worked both for herself and for her country
— yet we do not think of her personally, as a
woman, very much.

She is just— Mary Pickford.

Only the other day Cecil deMille told me
that Mary Pickford, in spite of her fame and
her infinite knowledge of photoplay drama
and technique, is the easiest person on the
screen to direct, as pliable and responsive as
a Stradivarius.

Charlie Chaplin and D. W. Griffith.both
associated with her in the Big Four, declare
she has the best business head in the motion
picture industry. I have heard many
authorities contend that she knows more
about pictures, from every angle, than any-
one else in the game.

She has, through her own efforts entirely,
made herself several times a millionairess —
which in a country where achievement is
judged so much by the dollar mark cannot
be passed over.

The love story which she and Douglas
Fairbanks have lived has immortalized it-
self by, I think, the quality of the love Mary
Pickford gave to it — so that it will go down
in history as the one "grande passion" we
can add to records bearing such names as
Heloise and Abelard, Romeo and Juliet,
Dante and his Beatrice.

Women do not inspire and return love
like that unless they are loving and lovable
— the two supreme gifts bestowed by a
masculine Deity upon woman.

Over and over you hear it asked — Why do
people love Mary Pickford so? Why do
they continue to love her year after year, in
spite of concentrated competition and
possible successors?

My answer may not be the right one, but
/ believe it —

People are hungry for that high and
spiritual something that shines in Mary's
face in its loveliest moments. We are not a
nation that as a whole cares for the arts of
painting, sculpturing. Nor are we inclined
to symbolism in our churches — churches
filled with saints and angels which answer
man's craving for spiritual beauty. But
somehow we crave that something— that
indefinable conviction of beauty and truth
and immortality that I see in Mary's face —
in the very shape of her brow and mouth
and eyes, in her sad and gentle moods. In

om page 50)

the mass of people is a splendid, upward
surging toward good — and they find the
symbol of that goodness in the image of
Mary's face.

I do not think for a moment that her
audiences realize this thing which I have so
inadequately described. But I truly believe-
that it is this lovely expression and this
oddly spiritual cast of feature that keeps her
far beyond and above other actresses —
whose beauty, ability, and efforts approxi-
mate her own.

This tiny little thing, with her hands like a
baby's, her four foot eleven of girlish sweet-
ness, to have accomplished all that she has
accomplished. To have stood as the idol
of America's young woman and girlhood
for all these years. What a position! What
triumphs in her startling reception in Eu-
rope! The calm and power of this girlish
woman —

Yet how much sorrow she has had. A
hard-working, precarious childhood, filled
with care for her brother and sister, and
even for her mother, as Mrs. Pickford ad-
mits. Her sad, unhappy girl-marriage to
Owen Moore with its battle, so her divorce
court story declared, against loneliness and
humiliation. The miserable failure of her
sister Lottie's marriage and screen career
and her adored brother Jack's tragic loss of
his beautiful wife Olive Thomas, coupled
with the other unpleasant episodes in the
boy's brief experience. Her mother's poor
health — a constant worry, for Mary adores
her mother with a tremendous affection.
Always hard, tiring, long hours of work.

And I am sure she has won supreme hap-
piness with Douglas Fairbanks in her pres-
ent marriage.

When I go to see Mary Pickford I am
always stirred by an emotion so deep that
I am not able to converse intelligently. I
am not usually susceptible. But my admi-
ration for her strikes me dumb and the pathos
of her grips me by the throat.

She was sitting all alone in an enormous
carved chair when I went to talk to her
about "Little Lord Fauntleroy," the picture
she is making, in which she plays both the
boy and his young mother, " Dearest." She
wore the traditional costume of black velvet
and lace. One graceful, slender leg hung
down, the other doubled under her. She
looked so tiny, so serious, as she studied the
illustrations in an old copy of Mrs. Bur-
nett 's famous book.

"This is the first time you 've ever played
a boy, isn't it?" I asked, as I mentally ran
over the list of immortal girl children she
has given us — Rebecca, Pollyana, Stella
Maris, Daddy Longlegs, and my beloved
"Dawn of a To-Morrow."

"Yes, I think it is," she said. "But
'Fauntleroy' to me is more a symbol of the
child heart than it is either girl or boy. I
think it is the loveliest child character ever
drawn. But of course I am modeling him
along much broader lines than I would a
girl. It's funny, but I got the walk watch-
ing Mr. Fairbanks' swagger in 'The Three
Musketeers.' (Adv.)

"I do not believe in robbing the screen
of any of its illusions if it's avoidable. I
want you all to see my 'Fauntleroy' as a
real live person. I don 't want you to know
how I got my effects. That is why I need
not tell you of the thousand and one
little, intricate, difficult details of difference
between a girl and a boy that I have figured
out. But this boy part of Fauntleroy has
been the most difficult I have ever played."

She is so simple, so natural, so kindly,
this most famous woman in the world.

"I wonder if you know how much I love
children," she said slowly. "They are my
one great passion in the world. You know
of course that we go out very little — Mr.

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ill

Why Does the World
Love Mary?

(Coticluded)

Fairbanks and I. Hut every Sunday when
we are not working we have all the children
in the family — the children of our dear
friends — at the house, and I sit all day in
the sand by the swimming pool and watch
them. Do you know that a child's face
is the most exquisite, the most expressive
thing in the world? I learn more about ex-
Dressing emotion from children than in any
other way, though if I acted as broadly as
children actually do, I should be accused of
terrific over-acting. They twist and pucker
their little faces in an intensity of emotion,
striving to emphasize everything they feel.

" My little niece, Mary Pickford II, is my
greatest joy. The other day she came to
me most seriously and said, 'Aunt Mary,
I don't want to take my French lesson. I
hate French lessons. Why do little girls
have to do so many things they don't want
to?'

"So I said, 'Darling, it isn't only little
girls that have to do a great many things
they don't want to. It's big girls, too.
Now here is Aunt Mary in these hot clothes,
working all day beneath hot lights, when
she'd much rat her be swimming. But we have
to do the work that belongs to us in this world
and learn to be very happy doing it well.
Then we earn the love of everyone around us.'

"So then she went to my mother and
said, 'Mamma, I think poor little Aunt
Mary works too hard. Let 's tell her not to.
We don 't care if we don 't have anything.' "

She looked across the set to where little
Mary Pickford, second, stood — her sister
Lottie's little girl of four who has just been
adopted by Mary's mother, Mrs. Charlotte
Pickford — with a smile so sweet that it left
me breathless.

"Are you going to have a baby?'' I asked.

A little wave of rose swept under her skin.
"No," she said, "I wish I were. I would
rather have a baby than anything else in
the world. When you love a man as much
as I love my husband, you long to hold a
child of his in your arms. And no woman
is a real woman to me who does not deeply,
honestly desire children. That is the su-
preme experience — the rounding out of life.
It is the crowning joy for woman — mother-
hood.

"Perhaps some day I shall know it. I
hope so. I — I pray so."

And her eyes — that are like gray clouds
over a violet sky with the light of a rich deep
sunset upon them — were wet.

From Gladys Smith — the daughter of a
rooming-house-keeper and a purser on a
lake boat, born nearly thirty years ago in
Canada, in the poorest of circumstances,
working on the stage as a mite a few years
old to support her small brother and sister,
missing the advantages of education — to
Mary Pickford, and all that name repre-
sents, not only of wealth and fame, but of
self-culture and social grace.

The name of Mary Pickford will exist as
long as history is written. She is absolutely
the outstanding feature of the creation and
d2velopment of motion pictures.

But her face was immortalized years
ago in the faces of Botticelli's angels.

If you don't believe me, go to the Metro-
politan Museum and see.

Af BONART, the distin-
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artist, is now designing gowns
for PHOTOPLAY. Our read-
ers are free to copy these crea-
tions. Turn to Page 32.

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(Concluded from page 73)

Justice Fellahoon by surprise. He recovered
himself quickly, however, and proceeded:

"Do you deny that it was found in the —
ahem! — boudoir of Mrs. Colonel Potiphar?"

" I do not, your honor," responded Jacob-
son with unperturbed calm.

With a triumphant gesture, Mr. Justice
Fellahoon turned to counsel for the defend-
ant:

"Then what do you mean by wasting the
court's time? The prisoner admits every-
thing. Off to the dun "

"I beg your honor's leave," smoothly
interrupted Mr. Levi, of Levi, Pharaoner
& Ford, rising promptly but with great
dignity. Mr. Ford, it should be noted in
passing, conducted a great chariot manufac-
tory on the Delta, in addition to his law
business. He made a specialty of defending
Jewish interests.

"Well, what is it?" asked the judge.

"If it please your honor, I beg to state,
in supplementing the brief already submit-
ted to this court by our Mr. Ford, that we
do not contest the ownership of Exhibit A
by our client. There is no other coat like
it in Egypt. Owing to tender associations
of childhood, Mr. Jacobson has become
deeply attached to this particular, and we
will admit rather striking, combination of
colors. The coat is Mr. Jacobson's."

Mr. Justice Fellahoon asked with a
deepening frown, running a slender hand
down his goatee:

"Then, what in Ra's name do you con-
test?"

"If it please your honor, we do most em-
phatically contest the honorable and dis-
tinguished Colonel Potiphar's version of the
circumstances under which this garment
came into Mine. Potiphar's possession."

At this point in the proceedings the steno-
graphic report of the trial contains the
entry: "Profound sensation in the court-
room." It was noticed that Col. Potiphar
stirred uneasily in his seat.

Mr. Levi resumed amid a hush:

"Mr. Jacobson, tell the court how Mine.
Potiphar — I name the lady with the utmost
respect — came into possession of your coat."

Col. Potiphar straightened in his chair
with a sudden, almost galvanic, movement.

"Mine. Potiphar offered to sew on a
button which had become loose," began
Jacobson.

"Did you accept her kind offer?"

"No, sir," replied Jacobson positively.

"Why did you not accept it?"

"Because there were important and val-
uable papers in the inside pocket."

Question. — "What were those papers?"

Answer. — "They were shares in a cor-
poration to organize a corner in wheat."

The announcement fell upon the court-
room like a thunderbolt. Mr. Levi sudden-
ly shifted his line of questioning:

"Now, Mr. Jacobson, will you tell us
what your relations were with Mine. Poti-
phar?"

"Those of a son to a mother," replied the
prisoner firmly.

At this point there was a shriek from the
latticed gallery. The Grand Crocodile
looked up threateningly. The next mo-
ment an attendant salaamed up to him and
whispered in his ear: "Mrs. Colonel
Potiphar has fainted, your Almightiness."
Mr. Levi continued:

" Did Mme. Potiphar have any knowledge
of the nature of the papers?"

"She did, sir."

Question. — "Did Mme. Potiphar show
any interest in your planned enterprise?"

Answer.— "She did, sir."

Question. — "At what time did you
usually discuss your plans for the 'corner'
with Mme. Potiphar?"

Answer.— "Wediscussed them at tea-time."

Question. — "Was the honorable Col.
Potiphar on any occasion present at these
— ahem — conferences? "

Answer. — "Never, sir."

Question. — "What, if any, measures did
you or Mme. Potiphar — or you and Mme.
Potiphar jointly — take to make sure that
Col. Potiphar would not be present?"

Answer. — "Mme. Potiphar had given me
a signal. "

It was noticed that at this admission Col
Potiphar leaned forward suddenly am
glowered violently at the witness. Mr.
Levi proceeded with the examination amid
a silence in which the dropping of a scarab
from the ceiling could have been heard.

Question. — "What was the signal?"

Answer. — "The word 'Tea-Pot', uttered
distinctly by Mme. Potiphar from the win-
dow just over my office. That signal meant
that tea was read)' and that Col. 'Pot' — as
Madame sometimes playfully called Col.
Potiphar — had gone to the barracks for the
afternoon."

At this explanation the buzz of feminine
comment became plainly audible in the
latticed gallery. It was quickly suppressed
by a single glance from the Grand Crocodile.

" Now," resumed counsel for the defend-
ant in a suave, " please-don't-misunderstand-
me" tone, "what was the subject of your
conversation with Mme. Potiphar — or of
Mme. Potiphar's conversation with you —
on this particular occasion after she had
pronounced the word 'Tea-Pot' distinctly
over the windows of your office, and you had
joined her in her boudoir? "

"She asked me whether or not I would
give her one thousand shares in the corpora-
tion."

Col. Potiphar once more sat bolt upright.

Question. — "And what was your reply?"

Answer. — "I said: 'There are twenty-
five hundred shares of the stock in the
inside pocket of this coat at this moment.
I could give you a thousand shares as easily
as not. Rut I have too much regard for
your good name. I cannot compromise
you. So I will not give you the stock.'

At this point Col. Potiphar arose hastily
to remark in a loud voice: "It's a lie!"
But Mr. Justice Fellahoon, leaning over the
bench, assured him that the trial was r.ot
yet over, that other things were about to
happen.

"Then what occurred?" continued Mr.
Levi, pretending not to have observed the
little by-play.

"Mme. Potiphar said, suddenly: 'Why,
Joe, that middle button on your coat is
nearly off. Let me sew it on for you.' I
said 'No thanks, Madame.' And then,
without another word, she jumped fcr the
bell-rope, rang for the servants, grabbed
hold of my coat and slipped it off."

"What became of the stock?"

"I had presence of mind enough to slip
the papers out as I felt the coat coming off."

"And then?"

"I ran before the servants could get
there. "

"Now, Mr. Jacobson "

But at this moment the court interrupted
the proceedings by rising to his feet with
an expression of indignation. He announced
firmly:

"This flouting of our noble Egyptian
institutions has gone on long enough. The
prfsoner has proved his guilt conclusively
by his own testimony. As between a
Daughter of the Delta Revolution and this
foreigner — or any foreigner — the question
of relative credibility can never arise. To
.the dungeon with him— for life!"

For Mr. Justice Fellahoon was a 100-
per cent. Egyptian.

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Winner of Photoplay's

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(Concluded from page 56)

picture of 1920. In these pages, you will
find pictures of them. And it wishes to
congratulate you who have made possible
this contest, and in whose hands rests the
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LETTERS

from
READERS

September 20, 1921.

EDITOR of Photoplay Magazine:
Dear Sir:

Every reader of your magazine knows you
are literally buried under the huge task of
conducting it and that it but adds to the
trouble to correspond with you. 1 know it
too, but this once I am going to be selfish
enough to trouble you with my contribution
to the columns dedicated to Letters From
Readers. Please overlook this annoyance,
for I assure you it will not happen again un-
less some momentous occurence tempts me
to write.

The year has been fairly spent. In three
more months it will draw to a close. In the
December issue of your publication will be
found a review of the year's work in films.
To the great ones will go the laurels and
glory But also will come rebuke and
criticism on the negligent of the cinema
world If one remembers rightly last year
'Way Down East," "Humoresque," "Why
Change Your Wife" and "The Devil's
Passkey" made up the quartet that merited
your finest, unstinted praise. Permit me to
suggest to you and your readers my selec-
tion for 1921.

"The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse"
ranks as the film superlative of the year!
Perhaps it did not create the sensation that
1920's masterpiece, "Way Down East,"
stirred up; possibly, too, it is not as great a
production; others, also, will say that the
criterion of this year consequently does not
attain as high a standard as last year's.
Be that as it may, I would like to wager the
adherents of "Way Down East" that the
performance of Alice Terry and Rudolph
Valentino was respectively superior to that
of Lillian Gish and Richard Barthelmess!
And that, although he is almost young
enough to be Mr. Griffith's son, Rex Ingram
has done as fine a piece of work with his war
scenes as the former did with his ice-jam!
From a persona' point of view I consider the
money expended on "The Four Horsemen"
better spent than that on "Way Down
East!"

In conclusion, Mr. Ingram deserves all
the praise the critics gave him; June Mathis
did splendid adapting from the novel of
Ibanez; Miss Terry and Mr. Valentino
earned the fame it brought them!

The other three pictures I consider
worthy of selection are "Disraeli," "The
Three Musketeers" and "The Golem."

Respectfully,

L. George Edelhauser, Jr.

842 Classon Ave.,

Brooklyn, N. Y.

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rough pencil sketch which I make on paper,
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"My Almanac," when it was first shown
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that the audiences always stay through the
entire program to see them, and seem to
have as good a time watching the funny
little figures as I had making them perform.
And so I feel that there is a real place for the
shadowgraph entertainment on the silver-
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I intend to produce soon in New York a
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promises to be a real novelty to Broadway
and an interesting revival of an almost for-
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Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Horizon

{Continued from page 44)

Peter Merriam's hand firmly as the girl's
father whispered a "God bless you, my son !"
But even the emotion of the old man aroused
no pity in his breast; nor did the shy affec-
tion of Doris Merriam affect him in other
than the crudest manner.

The following day he sought out Peter.
His glib tongue and agile brain concocted a
plausible, high-sounding tale of social and
business stability. They agreed that he
should remain on Horizon Island for another
month or so, and that they would then dis-
cuss details of the wedding. And Peter
Merriam did not look at the young man as
he touched upon a subject too delicate for
thought.

" In allowing you to remain on this island
with Doris, I am showing a great trust in
you."

"Yes sir."

"I will not ask that you do not betray
that trust. I would kill the man who did."

"I understand, sir. Doris is more sacred
to me — "

Peter put out a restraining hand. "I
don't need your protestations, my boy. I
believe in you."

He arose and moved away, and therefore
did not see the light of contempt in the eyes
of the murderer. Peter did believe in the
boy as he believed in his daughter, in him-
self. And he allowed them to be together
constantly — even on the morning when he
started out before a freshening breeze for a
necessary trip to the lighthouse district
headquarters in Charleston.

He did not remain in Charleston as long
as he anticipated. In fact he did not even
visit the lighthouse headquarters in the old
post office building at the foot of Broad
street. Chatting with an old friend in the
hallway of the Court House he had seen it,
and now, as he guided his little boat swiftly
back toward Horizon Island he held a copy
of it in his hand — a poorly printed bit of
paper headed "$1,000 Reward — Wanted for
Murder." Beneath that sinister caption
there was a photograph of the man who
called himself Rogers.

He sat rigidly in the stern of his little
craft, leg-o'-mutton sail close hauled, tiller
gripped by one sinewy hand, eyes staring
straight ahead. The fine brain behind those
flashing black orbs was seething with the
greatest problem it had ever been called
upon to solve.

Outwardly Peter Merriam exhibited no
emotion. He gave way not at all to the.
fiery temper which he had trained to his
bidding. He did not resort to profanity,
and he kept a tight grip on himself as he
gave thought to the situation, and to the
fact that there was no person involved
worth considering save Doris.

The man who called himself Rogers was
twice a murderer: a reptile of the worst
type — a man who killed cold-bloodedly.
Peter Merriam thought intensively upon
how he should be handled.

His first idea was to land on the island
and make the man captive. Then to notify
the authorities and have him meet his sen-
tence in the electric chair. But that plan
was discarded almost instantly. He knew
his daughter's nature, and he knew that —
no matter what he was — Bill Walters had
won her love. Therefore a felon's death for
him would wreck her life. She would not —
could not — understand.

He then thought of killing the man and
frankly confessing his deed to Doris. That
idea, too, was discarded almost immediately,
although through no horror of taking the
life of this man who had brought misery to a
spot where only happiness and contentment
had existed for nineteen years. Could
Doris understand, Peter Merriam would

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have killed Bill Walters with as little com-
punction as he would have shown in scotch-
ing a snake. But he knew that if he killed
the murderer. Doris would not only be
made miserable but he would have created
a chasm between them which could never
be bridged. And the bare thought of that
was intolerable.

Yet there was the problem before him —
unsolved — tremendous — vital — immediate.
Marriage between Doris and this man was
unthinkable. Too, it was unthinkable that
her illusion should be destroyed. She was
experiencing her dream of glory — it must
continue a dream of glory.

Dusk had settled over Horizon Island
when Peter Merriam beached his little
craft. He exhibited nothing of his internal
seethe at sight of Doris and Bill Walters
coming toward him, the arm of the mur-
derer about the waist of the girl. The bit
of paper containing the notice of reward and
the picture of the young man had long since
been dropped overboard. Peter remem-
bered in the description of the fugitive men-
tion of a triangular scar at the cleft of the
chin. He glanced casually at the young
man now and reassured himself. The scar
was there: a tiny, livid thing of damning
evil.

They ate their dinner together as usual,
but when Doris and the man went for their
evening stroll on the beach that night, Peter
Merriam accompanied them.

There was nothing in his manner to indi-
cate the stark knowledge which had that
day come to him. Nor did he exhibit any-
thing less than genuine affection toward the
young man who was ostensibly to marry his
daughter. He was thinking — thinking
. . . and his heart was breaking at visuali-
zation of the girl's supreme happiness in this
new wonder which had come into her life.
This happiness which must be crushed . . .

And that night near midnight, Peter
Merriam went down to the beach and sat
upon a sand dune, gazing over the white-
capped waters. Low-hanging, swiftly-
scudding black clouds obscured the full
moon, giving the scene an appearance of
stark evil. The wind whistled sinisterly
through the jungle of palmetto and scrub
oak. The rushes along the sand dunes
bowed before the rising wind. With the in-
stinct of thirty years, Peter Merriam satis-
fied himself that the light in the tower was
winking its warning seaward . . . then he
rose and slowly tramped toward the house.
In the doorway he turned, looked once
again upon the scene and then uttered a
single remark —

"Real storm tomorrow!" he said to him-
self. Then he went to bed — and to sleep.

Morning dawned gray and gloomy. Then
came rolling thunder, jagged lightning and
a downpour of heavy rain. Through the
morning it continued. Peter Merriam saw
his daughter and the man to whom she was
engaged playing checkers in the tiny, cozy
living room. The girl's face reminded him
of the Madonna . . . he donned slicker and
sou'wester and visited his little plant: in-
spected the gasolene motor, and then went
into the lighthouse tower. He was there for
some time. When he returned to the house,
he went straight to his room and at lunch
time did not answer the summons.

Doris found him lying on his bed, pitching
feverishly.

"I'm not feeling very well, Little Girl,"
he explained tenderly. "You and Bill eat
alone today."

She pressed cool, slender fingers against
his forehead, " I'm sorry you're ill, Daddy."
Then she lowered her lips to his ear. "I'm
so happy!"

And Peter Merriam stroked her glorious

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hair and lied: "He is a fine young man,
daughter."

During the afternoon the storm increased
in violence. By nightfall the wind was
shrieking mercilessly over Horizon Island
and the waters of the Atlantic crashed
viciously upon the beach as though to wash
the little spot from the face of the earth.

At dark, Doris and Bill Walters went to
the tiny powerhouse and started the motor.
The big arc light in the tower sent its mes-
sage of warning flashing out over the storm-
tossed waters. Then the young couple
opened the door between the room of the
sick man and the living room and sat to-
gether on the lounge, holding hands.

It was a pretty sight. If only this man
had not done murder! Peter Merriam
turned away as Bill Walters glanced toward
him. He was afraid the murderer might see
within his eyes that which he did not want
him to see.

At eight o'clock he called to his daughter.
In response to his bidding she looked from
the window and reported the light burning
brightly. At nine o'clock it was still burn-
ing. But at ten o'clock she came excitedly
to his bedside —

"The light is out!"

He sat upright, eyes blazing. "You arc
sure?"

"Yes sir: positive."

The old man shook his head. "That
can't be. Never since the day it was built
has that light flickered ..."

Bill Walters spoke. "It's out, Mr.
Merriam."

Merriam motioned them from the room
and he struggled to the side of the bed and
reached for his shoes. But Doris was beside
him in an instant: "You shan't get up.
You're ill."

"The light must burn," answered Peter
Merriam simply.

"Bill and I will fix it," she answered
swiftly. "You can't go outside tonight."

"I wont allow you to go out tonight,
Doris. It is the worst storm in years . . ."
They both gazed toward the figure of the
murderer. He looked doubtfully first at one
and then at the other.

"I understand this plant pretty thor-
oughly," he volunteered. "I'll go."

" If you would ..."

Doris placed her hand in that of the man
to whom she was engaged. "I'll go with
you."

"No need," said Bill Walters almost
roughly. "I understand the whole thing —
except that gasolene engine."

"That's running all right, dear. The
trouble must be in either the wiring or the
arc."

Peter Merriam had both shoes on by this
time. He ros? and clutched the bed weakly.
"I'd better go myself. With the light not
burning ..."

Doris forced him back on the bed. " Bill
will fix it, Dad. If he can't — I will."

And so Bill Walters, condemned mur-
derer, donned the storm coat of the light-
house keeper and started upon his mission.
The girl accompanied him to the door, and
Peter Merriam saw her creep into Walters'
arms and kiss him full upon the lips.

"Goodbye, Bill."

"Goodbye, Doris."

He swung open the door and recoiled be-
fore the howling inrush of the storm. Then,
head lowered, he plunged into the fury of
the night. The girl stood rigid, staring
after him. Instinctively her hand dropped
upon the knob of the door through which he
had gone. Then she sank limply into a
chair and trembled —

"I — I'm frightened, Daddy," she called
through the door, to her father.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

117

Horizon

(Continued)

But the old man did not answer. He sat
on the side of the bed, eyes closed, body-
rigid. The girl rose and crossed to the
window where she stood gazing out into the
storm. The trees bent blackly before the
blast, the surf roared furiously as it beat
upon the shore. No ray of light spoke from
the tower to relieve the horror of the night.

Five minutes passed; ten, fifteen. Then
suddenly the girl dropped back with a little
cry of pleasure —

"The light! He has fixed it! It's burn-
ing!"

The old man opened his eyes, but did not
move. Doris rushed in to him, almost hys-
terical with relief.

"He's fixed it, Daddy. My boy has
fixed it — alone — out in the storm."

"He's a fine young man, daughter,"
answered old Peter Merriam simply.

They sat hand in hand by the side of the
bed, awaiting the return of Bill Walters.
But the young man did not come. For ten,
fifteen, twenty minutes they waited. Doris
was trembling. And finally she buried her
face in her father's coat, and for the first
time in her life he heard her sobs —

"Oh! Daddy — something has hap-
pened ..."

"Nothing could happen, dear. Noth-
ing ... "

But he rose from the bed and dressed him-
self. "I'll go and find him, dear."

"I'm going with you."

He hesitated for an instant. The atmos-
phere of the place was pregnant with trag-
edy. But he nodded and together they
staggered through the door into the storm
and thence to the tiny opening which let
into the tower.

Drenched, trembling, they found the
stairway, and slowly they mounted. And
on the steel platform of the light tower they
found his body.

He lay on his back, one hand badly
charred ... while the light blinked its
message of safety far out to sea through the
storm.

Doris stared, tearless. She did not ask
questions. It was her introduction to
Death, but she recognized it instinctively.

And so, dry-eyed, they bore his body
back to the little home and laid it upon the
bed. It was then that the girl gave way to
the one racking grief of her life, and the
tears of Peter Merriam mingled with
hers . . .

The next morning they buried him. And,
while Doris knelt by the freshly-made grave,
Peter Merriam preached the funeral ser-
mon . . .

" He died that lives might be saved . . ."
the big voice rolled sonorously over the
grave. "He braved the fury of the night
that a beacon of warning might flash. His
death was the noblest of them all — for he
died in the service of others ..."

And then Peter Merriam, too, broke down
and swept his daughter hungrily into his
arms: "Oh! Girl — Girl!" he sobbed, "I'm
so sorry — so very, very sorry."

And she looked bravely into his eyes:
pride in her dead mitigating her grief. " I'm
broken, Daddy — but I'm proud. He died
that the light might burn ... I know that
he was happy ..."

And so there came to Doris Merriam the
one sorrow of her life; yet it was a magnifi-
cent sorrow, a grief tinged with pride of
accomplishment — the superb grief which
comes to women whose men are killed in
battle. In a half day it aged her many
years ... it rounded her to perfect
womanhood . . . and it left her strangely
at peace.

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(Concluded)
been her husband, Peter Merriam left his
home and went into the light tower.

Very carefully he disconnected the wires
which only twenty-four hours previously he
had fastened to the transmission line linking
transformer and arc. There were three of
these wires: one of them connected with
each main wire, the third attached to the
steel stairway leading to the turret of light.

He coiled all three wires as he followed
them down the stairway and out of the
building. They all led to his own room and
thence to his bed where they were attached
to a hidden, double-throw switch.

The action of that switch had been very
efficient. By snapping it into the socket at
the left the original circuit was maintained.
But by throwing it the other way the circuit
was broken, so that the current was directed
through the switch and thence back to the
steel stairway.

The old man had not figured wrongly in
throwing the switch to the right the previous
night. By doing so he caused the light to be
extinguished and, in turn, had electrified
the steel stairway. And thus it was that
Bill Walters, alias Red Watson, condemned
murderer, had been electrocuted when, with
his feet on the steel platform he attempted
to adjust the carbons of the great arc-light.

Death by electrocution had been instan-
taneous. Death by electrocution as the sen-
tence of the criminal court had decreed.
Peter Merriam had done this thing — and
then, when he was sure that the man was no
more, he had thrown the switch back and
caused the light to burn again.

His face, set and rigid, the old man took
the switch and the three coils of wire. Then
he walked slowly down to the beach and
threw them into the waves.

He returned to the grave of the man who
was to have married his daughter. He was
strangely cold but he received his reward as
the girl lifted to him a face in which grief
shone as glory.

"His death," said the girl simply, "stuns
me. But I am proud that it came as it
did!"

And the old man kneeled beside her:
"He died," came the father's voice, "that
others might live!"

The Girl on the Cover

(Continued from page 39)
never more than one month and seldom
that. Her life has always been and always
will be just one poem, one symphony —
work.

First, work in the small companies which
made only the one-night stands. In such
plays as "At Duty's Call," "The Coward,"
"The Child Wife," "The Truth Tellers,"
she toured the country, playing babies and
little girls and little boys. In some of these
she played with her sister Dorothy, then
exactly four. They "made" the tiniest
towns. Mrs. Gish travelled with Dorothy
when all three could not get an engagement
in the same company. This charming
gentlewoman, a widow with these two little
girls, turned to the stage from Massillon,
Ohio, because people told her that pretty
little Dorothy and lovely Lillian would be
successful, as most stage children were —
and are still — blondes. When the mother
could be with only one of her girls, it was
Lillian, the older by two years, who would
travel alone. She would always have an
older woman in the same company — the
soubrette, the feminine heavy— to look
after her.

"Sometimes," says Lillian, fifteen years
later, "sometimes I got ten dollars a week.
I would share a room with one of the other

Every advertisement in 1'liOTOPL.VY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Girl on the Cover

(Continued)

actresses for fifty cents a day, or sometimes
even a dollar. In the evenings, about ten
o'clock, three or four of the other girls in
the company would come ostensibly to call
on us. They would remain to share our
room. In that way it cost each of us very
little; so that I could always put away a
little of my salary.

"I have never really had to endure hard-
ships. But it was hard for a girl of six to
travel without her mother. I was often
very lonely. The worst part of my early
days on the stage was the fact that it was
considered, then, a terrible thing to be an
actress. When Dorothy and I would return
to Massillon between engagements, we
would never tell anyone we had been on the
stage. In a small town it was then consid-
ered almost a disgrace.

"I used to do stunts in the old thrillers.
Once I completely upset a s ene. As the
little darling of the piece, I was to swing
from a rope out of the scene. That is, my
dummy was. I was to run from the stage.
I forget the occasion for the swinging; but it
must have been a fight of some sort, for a
revolver shot was to be my cue to skip.
The shot was never fired during rehearsals.
So when I heard it that first night, I was so
excited I forgot to leave the stage. My
dummy swung off and I remained in full
view of the audience. I remember the lead-
ing man brought me out for the curtain call
on his shoulder.

"In another old play, I was to enter a
cage with two lions. I was not particularly
frightened, and went through with it many
times. The lions, Jenny and Maude, were
old and tame. I played with them a whole
season. Just after the last performance,
Jenny took a large bite out of her trainer's
arm. The next season, Dorothy was with
me in the same show. I had advanced to
another role, and she had to go into the
lion's den. I knew the trick; I knew that
she had only to be with the animals a
second, before she ran out, and I had never
been a bit scared. But with Dorothy doing
it, I used to be petrified with fear at every
performance. The minute Dorothy went on
for that scene, I ran up to our dressing-
room and buried my head in the trunk until
it was safely over."

THE Gishes and the Pickfords became
friends in those days. The three little
Pickfords: Mary, Lottie and Jack — and the
two little Gishes often travelled with the
same company. Mrs. Pickford sometimes
took care of Lillian. Later, the older Gish—
when she was eight — was with Sarah Bern-
hardt's repertoire company. One night
Lillian was standing in the wings when .the
Divine Sarah came up. She put her hand
caressingly on Lillian's golden curls, mur-
muring a word of admiration.

"Bernhardt's company was the best one
I was ever with," she says. "We were
mostly with the melodramas. We were only
once with a good company. And then we
never got our salaries; so we decided it was
better to play in low-brow plays and live."

Later, she was in "Dion O'Dare," "Mr.
Blarney from Ireland," "Her First False
Step," "The Volunteer Organist" and with
Fiske O'Hara for three seasons.

"Then I was getting about twenty-five
dollars a week. I was in New York, playing
in David Belasco's 'The Good Little Devil,'
with Mary Pickford. I lived in a hotel on
Eighth Street. You probably know it — the
favorite home of many very old, very
respectable people. I didn't know many
people in New York, and I was lonely. I
had a little stove. I used to cook my meals
on it. I didn't want to go out for meals be-
cause I hated to walk into a restaurant alone
before so many strangers.. Besides, I didn't

have enough money — I sent some home
every week. So I lived, for some time, on
beans and tea that I cooked on my little
stove. And not much else.

"Naturally, I began to get thin and wan.
I was not very strong anyway, and it wasn't
long before I looked really ill. David
Belasco noticed it. He knew me only as an
actress in his company; my part was not
very large. But he sent a doctor to see me
and ordered that I be taken care of. I never
knew until long after who had been so good
to me. Mr. Belasco is the kindest and most
considerate of men and managers. I did not
see him for years — all the time I was in pic-
tures in California — until, once when Mary
was in New York, we met him at the
theater — his own theater. He said he
couldn't believe I was the same girl who had
apparently been trying to starve herself to
death so long ago!"

It was not really very long. The Gishes
made their screen debut when they were so
young they had to make up to look older!
Today, Lillian Gish is generally recognized
as the greatest emotional actress in the
films. Dorothy has a popularity second to
no film comedienne.

LILLIAN has worked hard — but then so
have many other screen stars. But she
has kept her perspective. She is not an
actress before she is a woman, a student, a
thinker. On her reading table, in her dress-
ing room at the Griffith studio in Mamaro-
neck, I saw these books: "The Romance of
Leonardo da Vinci;" Romain Rolland's
" Jean-Christophe;" Bernard Shaw's "Back
to Methuselah;" "Zuleika Dobson," by
Max Beerbohm; and Anatole France's
"Revolt of the Angels." The pages of ail
these books are cut.

She has never been "educated" — thank
heaven !

" I spent exactly eight months in a con-
vent at St. Louis, Mo. It was the happiest
time of my life. At first I missed the excite-
ment of theatrical life; but after a month I
would have been glad to stay there all my
life. I am not a Catholic — but I love the
nuns. They are the most wonderful
women in the world.

"We had amateur
matics, we called them,
them, of course, I had been on the stage. I
was entirely at home in our plays, and I
played Bianca in 'The Taming of the
Shrew.' After our performance, Sister — —
came to me and said, 'My dear child, I
should never say this to you. But I feel it
is my duty to. You should go on the stage.
You are a born actress.' "

There are so many things one can tell
about Lillian Gish — charming things. One
of the nicest things I know is the story of
the manicurist. She did Lillian's nails for a
long time, and one day shyly confessed her
movie aspirations. Not long after, Lillian
brought her to the Griffith studio in her own
car, saw that she had screen tests made, and
is doing everything she can to help her. It
is now up to the pretty little manicurist. If
she becomes established, she will have to
thank Lillian Gish.

A GREAT writer once said about her,
"She is subtle without knowing it."
A great actor said, "When she acts she
doesn't know what she does. Her art is
intuitive and unconscious; all great art is.',
One of her best friends says, ' 'Her greatest
charm is her simplicity."

I am sure she is great. Not because
celebrities have said so. Not because
of her marvellous work in "Broken Blos-
soms," "Way Down East" and "The Two
Orphans." Not because she does better
work in each new picture. Not because

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120

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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The Girl on the Cover

( Concluded)

several managers have begged her to go
on the stage again. But because she has
a very rare and fine spiritual quality about
her — as Mary Pickford has — a childlike
simplicity. And more because — like the
Mona Lisa of Leonardo: that sweet and
good and virtuous woman — she has all the
pain, the wisdom, and the subtlety of the
ages in her matchless smile.

Questions and Answers

{Continued from page 76)

Dorothy. — You address me "Questions
and Answers" and say that it sounds as
if you were writing to twins. That gave
me my laugh for the day. Thank you.
Pauline Frederick has, it is said, definitely
decided not to remarry Willard Mack.
Annette Kellerman has made four photo-
plays. Anna Pavlowa has made one,
"The Dumb Girl of Portici," a very lovely
thing made by Lois Weber for Universal.

Homer. — Virginia Valli is not related to
Valli Valli. Virginia is a very beautiful
brunette who played with Bert Lytell.in
Metro's "A Trip to Paradise" and Gold-
wyn's "Grand Larceny." She is married
to George Lamsen, and is twenty-one.

J. H. F. — Gareth Hughes is very young —
about twenty, I understand. He is starring
for Metro, his first vehicle being "Garments
of Truth." He scored his great success in
"Sentimental Tommy" for Paramount.
May McAvoy was made a star also because
of her fine work in that picturization of
Sir James Barrie's story, directed by John
Robertson. Edward Earle was born in
1884 and has a wife.

Clyde. — Thomas Meighan's Paramount
picture, "The Prince Chap," was a film
version of Edward Peple's play of the same
name. William deMille directed and Lila
Lee was in it. Lila is not married. She
lives in Hollywood.

Jean. — The child's name does not appear
in the cast of "Too Much Speed," starring
Wally Reid. Norma Talmadge in "The
Passion Flower" and "The Sign on the
Door." Norma's newest is "Smilin'
Through," from Jane Cowl's play.

Zenia. — The following people played in
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Barrie's play, "The Admirable Crichton":
Thomas Meighan, Gloria Swanson, Theo-
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Bebe Daniels, Julia Faye, Robert Cain,
Mildred Reardon, Mayme Kelso, Edward
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Erminie. — Thank you for your sweet
praise. For a fifteen-year-old, you surely
can flatter a man. Sorry your mother
doesn't approve of our corresponding
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she would change her mind. You are the
only Erminie — besides Gilbert and Sulli-
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B. B. — You say you simply cannot stand
to see Warner Oland play villains when he
is such a gentleman. Why go to see him
then? He is featured in the serials in
which he appears. Address him Pathe,
Pathe Bldg., N. Y. C. The latest address
I have for Irving Cummings is Producers
Security Corp., 516 Fifth Avenue, N. Y. C.
Mr. Cummings has his own company. At
least, he d!d a week ago {Cont'd on page 123)

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

121

IMAGINARY INTERVIEWS

Charles Spencer Chaplin

GENTLE Reader, I am writing this in
a Los Angeles hospital, with the tears
. (not movie tears!) running down my
sunken cheeks! The chart above my
bed is labeled "Star Shock!"

CUTBACK. — Approaching Charlie's
modest little cottage, as nervous as a Chap-
lin " Extra," I timidly rang the bell, and was
informed by three butlers (in chorus) that
Mr. Chaplin was just about to take his
morning constitutional. Looking forward
to a chatty ride in a Rolls-Royce, I sharp-
ened my fountain pen and waited expect-
antly. As I was sketching a beautiful
Holstein cow that was wandering among the
geraniums on the front veranda, I heard a

hoarse, whirring noise and looked up ex-
pecting to see the Rolls-Royce. Yes, G. R.
(that's Gentle Reader), it's true! Charles
Spencer Chaplin was coming down the
driveway — on roller skates! He was reading
a huge volume of Shakespeare. Running
desperately (he shakes a wicked skate!) I
got near enough to yell hoarsely, "M-M-
Mister Chaplin! W-When are you g-going
to do your n-next c-comedy?"

Without looking up from his reading, he
said abruptly, " I am through with slapstick!
Forevah! I leave for New York tonight to
take John Barrymore's place in Richard
Third!"

I swooned!

Charlie Abroad

(Continued from page 66)

experience of my life. Remember, when I
left England I was literally an obscure
comedian. England is my home-land. To
return after so many years, and to be
greeted so royally, has made me sad and
glad at once.

I'VE been hiding. Carl Robinson, my
press representative, is the busiest man in
London. I can hide but he can't. He found
time, one evening, to go to see a chap he
knows, the manager of a very conservative
"cinema," that was showing "The Kid."
Carl looked around at the theater and said,
"Why wouldn't it be a good idea to put the

name of the picture in electric lights over
the entrance?" The manager said he
thought that was a great idea, but he would
have to talk it over with the members of the
Board. He called up Carl the next day.
"My dear old chap," he said, "that was a
rippin' idea — simply rippin'. But we talked
it over for two hours at the Board meeting,
and the chaps all thought it would make the
theater too conspicuous!"

1WENT out alone, by a side entrance of
the hotel. I wanted to try to find the
house I was born in. It was shabby of me,
in a way, to go out by the entrance nobody

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122

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

CLASSIFIED ADVERTISING Charlie Abroad

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{Concluded)

suspected, when there was a crowd awaiting
me in front. But I wanted to be alone. I
had to be alone. I came over here to get
away from myself.

I went back to Kennington, where I was
born and lived as a boy. I wished again
that my mother could be with me.

I stood and looked at it a while. Then I
went up some stairs and knocked. A voice
on the other side of the door called, "Who's
there?" and I answered, "Friend." An old
lady opened the door. "It's only me —
Charlie Chaplin," I said. Mrs. Reynolds
said if she had known I was coming she
would have fixed the place up a bit. There
was a crowd outside when I came out. A
woman came up and shook hands with me,
saying she was sorry she had shouted
"Hello, Charlie," as she knew I- was on a
holiday and didn't want to be bothered;
but she just couldn't help it!

1WENT along Oxford Street. I saw a
Jackie Coogan doll in a shop window.
You know Jackie was my little pal in "The
Kid." I went in and asked to buy the doll.
The clerks and the other people in the shop
began to get excited, so I bolted without
the doll.

1HAD a corking time the evening I went
to dinner at Simpson's. I had stewed eels.
I hadn't tasted them for ten years. There
was only one thing lacking: the vinegar.
Then I roamed around a bit. I stopped at a
coffee-stall near Hyde Park corner and
pulled my cap down over my eyes. This
proved successful. Nobody recognized me.
I saw a wagon coming along loaded with
apples. The horse was in difficulties and I
got behind and pushed. The carter thanked
me and went off. It's nice to know that
people like you because of yourself and not a
strip of celluloid.

Bruce Bairnsfather did two cartoons of
me. The caption on one of them is,
"Charlie, all alone and incog., goes to see
some of our dear old bits of country." It
shows me in my screen makeup on a coun-
try road with hundreds of people's heads
peeking out at me. I have always admired
Bairnsfather's work. The other is most
flattering. I am shaking hands with John
Bull, who is waving away 'Bother' with a
list of grievances. On the picture is:
"Kings of England: Charles I, 1625.
Charles II, 1660. Charles III, 1921."

1AM grateful to the little boy who sent me
a letter on the envelope of which was
pasted a picture of my feet. This was the
only address except "London, England."

THERE'S not much more to say. I'm
having the time of my life, except that I
am dead tired. I'm going to bed for twelve
hours' sleep as soon as I put this in the post.
One thing more: I am not forgetting you. I
wouldn't be writing this for Photoplay if I
were. I haven't any plans; I don't know
when I'll be movingon. I'm goingto France
and Italy and Germany and Russia and
Turkey and I'll write my impressions of all
of them for you. Right now all I can
think of is:

A little boy who stood looking up at the
Ritz-Carlton Hotel in London, wondering
what it would be like to live there.

I was that little boy. A few days ago I
stood on the balcony of that same hotel,
smiling at a large part of London, standing
there below me. Somehow, London is not
as mysterious and romantic to me now as it
was then. Realization never is. But I have
not changed much. London is what has
changed.

I'm off for Paris in a day or two. I'll
write to you from there.

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAT MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

uestions and Answers

123

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(Continued)
Extry. — Yep — everybody's married now.
Just think: the three Talmadges: Norma,
Constance and Natalie; Ralph Graves;
Dick Barthelmess; Dorothy Gish, Jean
Paige, — I could go on indefinitely. (You
know, don't you, that when a writer (ahem),
a writer says that "indefinitely" he really
means he can't think of another darned
thing to say. Don't tell anybody else I
told you this. It might make all the other
writers mad at me.)

Frances, Chicago. — Didn't I see you
once in Chicago, Frances, when I was there?
Weren't you the girl I saw on Michigan
Blvd., in a blue suit and a black hat, on
the sixteenth of December, 1919? I knew
it. Niles Welch is with Selznick. He is
going to appear in a stage play soon, I hear.
But sometimes my hearing is not so good.
So don't count on it. He's married to
Dell Boone. Any relation to Daniel?

Philip, Bozeman, Montana. — So you
were in Yellowstone last summer and saw
a picture being taken with Ann Little.
How wonderful. Quick, Watson! Ah, yes
— it must have been a serial called "The
Blue Fox," many of the scenes of which
are laid in Yellowstone. But how wonder-
ful that you saw it being taken. How I
envy you.

Harriett. — I do not know of a Ulysses
Grant Davis who is a director. I do not
know of a Ulysses Grant Davis at all. Is
he someone I should know?

M. P., Atlanta. — Your old friend Coit
Albertson may be reached at the Green
Room Club, New York City.

Randolph C, Frisco. — Didn't you
really know which was Monte Blue and
which Rod La Rocque in that Plays and
Players picture in October Photoplay?
Monte Blue is on the left, Rod on the right.
But they are not twins. Honestly.

Northumbria. — Only too glad to help
you, but I have no record of a film called
"Comrades" or "The Red Revolution."
The company you played extra for down in
Florida doubtless changed the name of the-
picture. D. W. Griffith made "The Birth
of a Nation," but he was in California
during the winter of 1918. By the way,
where have you been since then?

Marguerite M. — There have been many
inquiries about Jules Waucourt. He is a
Belgian, and he is now in Europe, where I
believe, he is on the stage. He was the
Pierrot of Marguerite Clark's "Prunella" —
by the way, one of the most beautiful things
ever screened. M. Raucourt appeared in
various films before that, but these are
probably not being shown now.

Mrs. PPH., New Orleans. — I wish
you would write to Thomas Meighan and
tell him what you told rac. Among other
things, you say that you read in Photoplay
that Tom's parents wanted him to be a
physician, but he wanted to bean actor, and
that he does more good than any doctor,
and cures more ailments. Tom will
appreciate that, I know. Write to him
care Lasky Studios, Hollywood, Cal.

Irene Wellfleet, Mass. — That's a
new town. Never heard of that one.
That goes down in my book. I have
names of many towns, that most people
never knew existed in these, our so to speak,
more or less, in a way United States.
Ralph Graves may answer your letter.
It depends upon whether the very new
Mrs. Graves will approve of her handsome
husband answering his female mail.
Address: Griffith studios, Mamaroneck,
N. Y.

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thing better than the rest of us.

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as any of them. Alll need is special training— and
I'm going to get it. If the I. C. S. can raise other
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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Questions and Answers

(Continued)

Betty. — Is it possible there is a woman
in these, so to speak, United States, who
didn 't know Wally Reid when she saw him?
I am very glad to meet you. Reid in "Be-
lieve Me Zantippe."

The Mystic Rose. — You are right in
striving not to realize the ideal, but to ideal-
ize the real. That's the only way you will
get along in the world. I thought you had
forgotten me when I didn't hear from you
for so long. You used to write often. Hope
you 're not getting upstage, if you know
what that means. I don't know just what
price the producers pay for leasing the
Broadway theaters in which they show their
photoplays; besides, it depends upon the
length of the lease. Universal has the
Central Theater where it has shown "Moon-
light," Marie Prevost's first stellar picture,
"The Rage of Paris" with "Miss DuPont"
and a Harry Carey and a Hoot Gibson
picture. Foolish Wives will be shown later.

Louise P., Fort Wayne. — Thank you
for your nice little letter. You like Lillian
Gish and don't think she is popular enough.
I'll have to look into it right away. I like
Lillian enough myself to make her just
awfully popular.

Betty. — Georges Carpentier is not sched-
uled to make more pictures right now. He
is in France now, you know. Jack Demp-
sey is working in a serial, for Pathe, on the
coast. Katherine MacDonald declines to
give her age for publication. I don't know
why, because she is 'way on the sunny side
of thirty; but perhaps she figures that she
may not always be.

Hester H., Milwaukee. — Marie Doro
is appearing in a new play at the Klaw
Theater, West 45th Street, N. Y. C, called
"Lilies of the Field." It's a rather naughty
play, but Miss Doro is very beautiful in it,
and everyone is very glad to see her again
on the stage. She made pictures abroad
for Herbert Brenon, but I believe has come
back to America to stay. Hope so.

Violet. — "By any other name," etc.
But lots of you are being called Vi'let this
month. See Clare Briggs, the great
American cartoonist (Sic). Mae Murray's
latest is "Peacock Alley." She is with, or
she is, Tiffany Productions, Loew Bidg.,
N. Y. C. Mae is married to Bob Leonard,
her director. Yep — she's pretty pretty,
if you ask me. And you did.

Anita N., Temple, Pa. — Charles Mack
is representative of motion pictures. He
is young, clever, and he rose from "props"
at the Griffith studio to leads. He was
born in Scranton, Pa., in 1902. "Dream
Street" is his first and latest picture, but he
is a member of the Griffith stock company.

Ruth M., New York. — The two Marys
each made a "Heart of the Hills." Mary
Fuller, the erstwhile screen star, made one;
and Mary Pickford made another. I
haven't heard from Mary Fuller for
several years. She abandoned her screen
career five years ago. Wherefore art
thou, Mary?

Violet. — Milton Sills disposes of the
age question by ignoring it. I wish I
could do the same. Mr. Sills was born in
Chicago but won't tell when. He was
educated at Chicago University and was
on the stage for years before entering film
work. His height is six feet, 180 pounds;
his hair is light and his eyes are gray, and
he has a wife and he has a daughter. What
more do you want?

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Questions and Answers

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. The best way to get rid of dandruff is to
dissolve it. To do this, just apply a little
Liquid Arvon at night before retiring; use
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By morning, most, if not all, of your
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(Continued)
Lucette. — Thank you so much for your
French felicitations. Of course you may
have been telling me how awful I was; but
on paper the phrases looked very pretty.
Thomas Meighan did not play with you at
the Theater La Cigale, Paris, France, be-
cause Thomas at that time was working in
pictures in Los Angeles. Sorry.

Dorothy D., Haverhill.— You wish to
know why all motion picture actresses falter
and murmur, at personal appearances, " I'm
so glad to see you all, I really don't know
what to say." If I wished to be wicked I
would answer that you should be thankful
they don't know what to say. But you
should see Hope Hampton. She has a beau-
tiful voice and sings three songs when she
appears. Charles Ray and Richard Barthel-
mess are both fine actors and nice boys. Ray
is in California; Richard, in Manhattan.

Kathryn. — I'm so glad to be able to
settle this heated controversy over who is
taller, Douglas McLean or Wally Reid.
Wally wins: he's six feet tall, just two
inches taller than Mr. McLean.

Miss Fish. — Just like the actor whose
advertisement read: "Wanted: small part,
such as dead body or outside shouts." Not
many are so modest as that. Arnold Gregg
was the leading man in "White Youth."
Buck Jones' wife is Mrs. Buck Jones. I
don't know her maiden name. Edward
Hearn is married, too. Hard luck.

Anastasia. — I've always liked that name.
"Eric Wheat " does not appear in the cast of
"Desert Gold." E. K. Lincoln played the
lead, as Dick Gale. That's a prettier name,
anyway.

Ervin. — Don't offer to beat up the man
who kissed your best girl. He might be too
many for you. Gladys Leslie, International
studio, Cosmopolitan Productions. Gladys
Hulette opposite Barthelmess in "Tol'able
David," for Inspiration Pictures.

Marey. — Max Beerbohm, in his essay on
"The Humor of the Public" says there are
a fe,w things that amuse people: "Mothers-
in-law, henpecked husbands, twins, old
maids, Jews, Frenchmen, Germans, Ital-
ians, niggers (not Russians, or other for-
eigners of any denomination), fatness, thin-
ness, long hair (worn by a man), baldness,
sea-sickness, stuttering, bad cheese." They
don't amuse me. Your letter was charming.
I did not go to Chicago University; I did not
go to any University at all. Edythe Chap-
man's middle name may be Blanche; but
you'll have to write and ask her. She was
born in Rochester, N. Y., and attended the
University there. You say that that poet
who expresses most emotions by . . .
symbols of vacancy . . . should write the
sub-titles for Nazimova's pictures. I've an
idea she writes them herself.

G. W., South Orange. — I went out to
the Griffith studio the other day to see some
of "The Two Orphans" being filmed. Mr.
Griffith was in a jovial mood. Once when
he was trying to get some extras to act, he
said: "My idea of a happy existence is to
live in a town where nothing goes by but
water." I have no record of an actress
named Sis Hopkins. There is a Mae Hop-
kins who was last with Goldwyn.

Alice. — Eugene O'Brien doesn't look in
the least like George B. Seitz, so I can't
understand how you thought it was Eugene
in "Bound and Gagged," Seitz's Pathe
serial.

(Concluded on page 127)

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When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

126

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

The Lost Needle

MpHERE'S an old English play known as
-■- "Gammer Gurton's Needle." Its plot is
woven around the loss of the family needle — no
trifling misfortune in the days of old.

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in the ancient world. And we sometimes forget
what an important role advertising has played in
making life pleasant and altogether livable.

Advertising has one of the leading parts in the
eternal drama of dollars. To it is directly due
much of the multiplication of products and services
which has come about during the last half century.

It has smoothed the mechanics of existence —
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countless necessities — -once considered luxuries —
within our easy reach and into continuous use.

Think of this for a minute. You owe much
to advertising.

And you miss much when you fail to read it!

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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

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Questions and Answers

(Concluded from page 125)

Jacqueline. — In spite of the fact that
you use blue ink on purple paper and that
you flatter me until I blushed so hard that
my beard caught fire — (of course I really
haven't any beard, but it seems to be the
thing for the Answer Man to have a beard)
— in spite of all, I can't answer a single one
of your questions for you. Not for spite;
but because neither of the ladies you men-
tion has won sufficient distinction to be
down in my book of Who's Who. Anybody
ever hear of Dorothy Terry or Anita Booth?
I thought so.

Ethel, Mt. Pleasant, Mich. — You do
not, by any means, live up to the merry
little town you live in. But I suppose I
would be put out too if I had sent Constance
Talmadge a quarter for a picture and never
received the picture — or the quarter.
Particularly the quarter. I can under-
stand your getting over the picture, but
not the quarter. Miriam Cooper uses her
real name, but she is Mrs. R. A. Walsh
now and is down in the 'phone books of
Los Angeles, Cal., as such. She was born
in Baltimore. Remember that old "I had
a girl in Baltimore. Street-cars ran right
past her door," etc., etc. Ad infinitum.
Etc.

N. K. W., Indianapolis. — Yours was a
good, high-brow letter. I felt chastened
after I'd read it, and awfully apologetic
because I wasn't born in Indiana. Now
I'm sure I'll never be famous. Ralph
Graves is married, alas, alas! The lucky
— or so some think her — young lady was
Miss Marjorie Seaman. You can read all
about it in Plays and Players. Ralph is
twenty-three.

Brownie. — Yes, it has been rumored
for some time that Mary Pickford is being
starred. In fact, the latest report is that
she is being starred twice — in "Little Lord
Fauntleroy." And you've been living in
Oak Park all these years!

Meighan Man. — You aren't handing
yourself a thing — not a thing. Anyway,
Tom is a great guy, and I don't blame you
much for kidding yourself that you look
and act like him. "The Easy Road" had
Lila Lee in it, too. Lila is not married to
Mr. Meighan because Mr. Meighan is
married to Frances Ring and Lila isn't
married at all.

Madelyn. — Now if it were Madeline,
or Madelon, or even Madelin, it wouldn't
be so intriguing: (Ugh — how I hate that
word — intriguing! Ugh! ! ! ) But Mad-

elyn. Now, there's a name!

Edit!

Roberts is not married. Your letter went
in the basket — eventually.

Elsie Dinsmore. — Yes, you are. You
say don't I think Elsie Ferguson is too
beautiful for words? Well, why talk about
her, then? (But I really do think she is.
And I don't blame you a bit.) She is
married to Thomas B. Clarke, who is a
banker, and all that, and she lives on Park
Avenue, and all that. I saw her once —
I saw her once, and I've never been able
to forget it. And I don't want to. "Foot-
lights" is, I think, her finest picture,
although she is exquisite as Mimsy in
"Forever." The Du Maurier costumes
were made for Elsie Ferguson.

Miami. — For a while there, there was
a story that Natalie was the youngest of
the Three Talmadges. It was sent out, I
fancy, because Natalie was on the screen.
Now that she has retired as Mrs. Buster
Keaton, I suppose there's no objection to
the world knowing that Constance is the
youngest of the bunch.

De!flliracfr

Every
'Wonians

&3iu

iraei

Dept. G-23 Park Ave. and 1 29th St.
New York City

Removes Hah

Immediately — safely

C""\NLY a chemist should
^*^ mix a depilatory, then
it is sure to be safe. Unlike
pastes and powders which must
be mixed by the user, DeMiracle
is a liquid just the right strength
for instant use. It never deteri-
orates. DeMiracle is more eco-
nomical because there is no waste.
It is the quickest, most cleanly and
simple to apply.

To devitalize hair you must use
DeMiracle. Being a liquid it per-
mits absorption. Therefore it is
totally different. It attacks hair
under the skin as well as on the
skin which is the only common-
sense way to remove it from face,
neck, arms, underarms or limbs.
Only the original sanitary liquid
DeMiracle has a money-back
guarantee in each package.

Three sizes: 60c, $1.00, $2.00
At all toilet counters, or direct from us,
in plain wrapper, on receipt of 63c.
$1 .04 or $2.08, which includes war tax.

«* weeit

You Have Never Seen
Anything Like This Before

Flower Drops the most exquisite
perfume ever produced. Mai. e from
flowers. A single drop lasts a week.

Bottle like picture with long plass
etopper-LilacorOrabapple, $1.50: Li Iv
of the Valley, Rose or violet, «2.0< ;
Romanza, our latent Flower Drops,
82.50. Above odors in half oz. bottles
$8.00, one oz. $15.00. Send 20c stamps
or silver for miniature bottle.

LS B

PE R F Cl^e * TOILJ.TAVATEB

flbwertrops

Eieger's Mon Amour, ounce $1.50
Garden Queen. $2.00; Alcazar, $2,25
Parfum Rionzi, $2.50, nothing finer;
Honolulu Boquet $1.00 At druggists or
by mail.

Send $1.00 for souvenir box of five
25o bottles, different odors.
PAUL RIEGER & CO. 130 1stS!..SanFrancisco

Send for Miniature

For a Good Xmas Suggestion

See page 118

When you write to advertisers please mention PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE.

128

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section

Vest Pocket

KODAK

Special

with

Kodak Anastigmat
f.7.7 Lens

$15

Pictures \s/ix2lA inches

Open it, sight and take the picture — that's how easy to
work this little camera is — no focusing. And this facility
of operation counts — picture opportunities often come with-
out warning.

The lens, Kodak Anastigmat f.7.7, with which this
camera is fitted, counts, too, producing as it does sharp,
clean-cut negatives that yield sharp, clean-cut prints and
crisp enlargements.

The convenience and compactness of the Vest Pocket
Kodak appeal to anyone. There's always room for it — it's
a hand camera the size of the hand.

At Your Dealer s.

Eastman Kodak Company, Rochester, N. Y., The Kodak City

Every advertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.

wmiimiu**:

&M *

ea riser

ijifens

I i the

Your cabinet a«d table require
frequent ancj thorough cleaning,
Old Dutch keeps them clean and
spotless with little time and work.
Does not scratch the surface nor
harm the hands.

Economical —Thorough— Sanitary

Single and Double Mesh *°®®%zj

TRADE MARK

HAIR NETS

JL HE strongest, yet the most uclicate hair net known to the fastidious
woman is the Lorraine Hair Net daintily packed awayin its protective tissue.

Two meshes: single, for dress wear: double, for the woman who motors,
rides, plays golf or wishes a hair net the double strands of which insure
double strength.

Lorraine Hair Nets in both single and double mesh are distinguished
by their quality — yet they are only 10c I

A dozen Lorraine Hair Nets would make a most practical and accept-
able Christmas gift for your friends — or for yourself !

Sold Exclusively at and Guaranteed by

F. W. WOOLWORTH CO. Stores

F.W.WOOLWORTH CO. s—io* store

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